


Button Up Your Overcoat

by Skinner (psiten)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anime/Manga Fusion, Conspiracy, Humor, M/M, Original Character(s), Relativity, Romance, quantum electrodynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 139,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psiten/pseuds/Skinner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed could untie knots in the fifth and sixth dimensions -- blindfolded. He could convince the military he fell through a rabbit-hole, and he could even shut down a Drachman invasion (with a little help), but he can't seem to avoid dating Roy Mustang (and maybe is kind of okay with that). But here's hoping they can collar a General trying to trigger a three-way war, and that they can stop him before he destroys the world.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Making himself walk instead of run took every ounce of composure he had, especially when he got far enough to see the city blanketed in a strange layer of dust and dark thunderclouds. The weather had been clear for miles around. Those clouds had the smack of weather alchemy about them.</p>
  <p>He had to find his brother.</p>
</blockquote>Spoiler Warning: End of first anime series, <span class="u">Conqueror of Shamballa</span> movie.<br/>Slight AU to movie continuity.
            </blockquote>





	1. "Down the Rabbit-Hole"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This story has been written in reference to the plot of the first anime series for Fullmetal Alchemist, with some setting details taken exclusively from the manga. There are major spoilers for some events at the end of the anime, but not for the bulk of the plot. It does not follow the plot of the manga or second anime series, Brotherhood, and should be considered to be in a slightly alternate universe timeline to the movie, The Conqueror of Shamballa, due to minor variations from those events. Most significantly at this time, Alphonse did not go back to Earth with Edward, and instead remained in Amestris.
> 
> 2) Explanations in this chapter make reference to multi-dimensional space theory. These will not be relevant to the continuing plot, and are not covered in any particular depth within the narrative, so you won't need a degree in rocket science to know what's going on. I do not expect these references to continue beyond Chapter 2; their only purpose is to get Edward back home. Background details on the theories in use, as well as other trivia, are available as footnotes. Due to size restrictions, the footnotes archived here are highly summarized. Full versions are available on [my LiveJournal](http://psiten.livejournal.com/26287.html).

     It had been an ordinary day for Paul Blackburn. He'd filed all the reports from East City on the progress of rebuilding the sewer mains, assigned the next detail of soldiers to be rotated into the garrison there, and watered the half-dead violet on his window sill. A perfectly ordinary day. Nothing that would have led him to expect the visitor who walked through his door at precisely 3:46 in the afternoon.

     First the intercom on his desk began buzzing like mad, Heinkel's voice calling out in hysterics over the crackling of the line.

     "Colonel Blackburn! It's... It's..."

     "It's what?" he asked.

     Then the door flew open and slammed into the wall. The blond standing in the doorway scrunched up his face, looking rather annoyed.

     And familiar.

     But it _couldn't_ be. It just couldn't.

     "You're not Colonel Mustang," was all the blond said.

     "Ah, no, umm... _Brigadier General_ Mustang is on the third floor now," Blackburn replied. "East Wing. Can I--"

     "What the hell is he doing in R&amp;D?!"

     Blackburn stammered, still not sure he could believe his eyes. "It's... That's not... I mean, Research is in the _West_ Wing. The Brigadier General is in charge of internal security. Is there anything I can- -"

     "Security, huh? Thanks," the blond replied, and turned to walk away without even closing the door.

     Heinkel stood up from his desk outside, watching the unexpected visitor walk away and slam the door to the hall behind him, then turned to Blackburn with eyes looking almost panicked.

     "Was that...?"

     "Edward Elric," Blackburn answered with a nod, picking up his phone and dialing the third floor as fast as he could. His fingers were shaking, making it hard to aim for the right numbers.

     "I thought he was dead!"

     Blackburn only had time to shrug at his secretary to indicate that he had _no explanation_, as Mustang's aide always answered before the end of the first ring.

     "_Internal Security. This is Hawkeye_."

     "Ah, yes. This is Blackburn, Eastern Liaison. I, ah... I need to speak with Brigadier General Mustang, please."

     "_He's in a meeting_."

     "Ah, well..." He trailed off, suddenly not sure he wanted to commit to identifying the visitor. Mustang had to know to expect _someone_, but it wasn't as if he could be sure that this someone was who he appeared to be. His eyes might have been playing tricks, and if he were _wrong_, he'd definitely get a great deal of the infamous Roy Mustang's attention -- then probably a quick demotion out of Central. "There's someone... Someone just stopped by my office, looking for the Brigadier General, and... ah..."

     "_Short, blond hair, brown coat?_" Hawkeye asked, not waiting for him to continue.

     "Yes," Blackburn answered. "That was him."

     "_We're aware. Thank you for calling_," she said, and the phone line went dead.

~//~

      Running his finger slowly over the table of numbers, Alphonse double and triple checked all of the patterns he'd extrapolated. There was no doubt in the progression of the seasonal water levels near the Briggs Mountain Range that Russell and Fletcher had gathered in the last year -- the far Northern reaches were heading for a drought, and it didn't make any sense. Weather patterns hadn't changed at all.

     If they were going to fix the imbalances, they'd have to look for another cause.

     "Major Elric!"

     Alphonse looked up from his notebook with a start to see Schiezka standing in the door, a frantic expression on her face.

     "Major Elric..." she said, panting hard and flushed as if she'd been running. "I was just in the cafeteria, and I heard Avia-san saying--! I mean, I couldn't believe it, but- -"

     "What did she say, Schiezka- san?"

     "Edward-san! Your brother! People all over the building are saying they saw him walking around!"

     He was on his feet before he could think, and his pencil fell out of his hand onto his charts, rolling away. He heard it hit the floor, but he couldn't have said where. "Nii-san?" he asked. "_Here_? Where in... _Which hallway_?"

     "Coming around the corner outside of Colonel Blackburn's department -- she nearly ran into him, and he helped her pick up all the papers she dropped. I told her there had to be some mistake, but she said it was _definitely_ Edward Elric, because she'd helped him find some books once, and after he said he was sorry for running into her, he started muttering something about _Colonel_ Mustang moving his office."

     Leaping up and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair, Alphonse vaulted the corner of his little desk and ran for the door in a daze of nervous excitement.

     "Then I know where he'd be going," Alphonse said, flashing Schiezka a grin. She backed up to let him through the door, smiling in response. "Thanks a bunch!"

     His shoes squeaked on the tile as he cornered hard and started sprinting down the West Wing's main hallway. "I'm glad I could help!" he heard Schiezka yelling behind him. Everyone in the hallway stopped whispering and moved to stand by the walls when they saw him dashing past. He was in luck -- no higher-ranked officers were out walking between his laboratory and the skywalk to the East Wing. He didn't have to stop, and made it there in just a breath or two.

     _Nii-san!? _

     He still had odd dreams now and then; memories of the years he'd traveled with Edward as a suit of armor resurfacing, or visions of his brother growing older and working hard in a strange, foreign world. When the generals had told him that they were moving his brother from the lists of soldiers whose location was unknown to the ranks of the missing and presumed dead, he'd nodded and kept his peace. They had their own way of doing things that didn't have anything to do with the peculiar link between the two of them. It was his brother who had kept his soul from disappearing, binding it to this world with his own life. A bond like that wasn't easily severed; he knew Edward was still alive.

     Alphonse knew he was working as hard as he could to get back, by any means he could. He'd kept a journal by his bed to write down every detail of his dreams when he awoke to be sure he wouldn't miss any hint that he got.

     It was just like his brother to surprise him anyway.

     Before he knew it, he'd gotten to the front office of the Internal Security department. Captain Havoc looked up from his book with a casual salute to kick open the door. Captain Hawkeye was waiting inside, standing up to attention when he entered. He stood still long enough to return her salute with a smile. She nodded her head at the door and said, "He hasn't shown up yet, but go on in."

     Alphonse breathed deeply, trying to calm his heart, which was hammering against his chest like a drum after his sudden run. He turned the door handle slowly and stepped inside. Brigadier General Mustang was alone, sitting at his desk and inspecting a piece of paper.

     "Pardon me," Alphonse began, closing the door behind him.

     Roy Mustang put the paper aside and leaned on the desk with an elbow. He knew he was supposed to salute upon meeting a superior officer, but the Brigadier had made it clear that he didn't want any ceremony when he was talking with 'old acquaintances'. Even though Alphonse only barely remembered the day they'd met, from memories of another life, for Mustang that was over a decade ago. Of course, even the five years since he'd gotten his old body back might count as a long acquaintance, but he'd only seen the Brigadier on a truly regular basis since he'd joined the military as a State Alchemist three months ago.

     Besides that, in the scattered, hazy memories he'd regained, Roy Mustang had been much closer to his brother. Even while they'd both been preparing for the State Alchemists' exam, the officer had usually spoken to Edward -- and moreso after he was technically Edward's commander. But the Brigadier had said not to be so formal, so he just stood with a nervous smile and waited for the older man to speak.

     "Well, if it isn't the Renewal Alchemist," Mustang answered at last. His tone seemed brighter than usual, less like the brusque demeanor of the Flame Alchemist who had earned every enemy he had in the upper ranks. Today, even his eyepatch didn't make him look particularly fearsome. "How kind of you to stop in. Have you solved the water crisis in the North already?" he asked with a laugh.

     "Ah..." Alphonse's eyes went wide. Captain Hawkeye had just verified what Schiezka had said, hadn't she? Surely the Brigadier knew he wasn't here to discuss the situation in the mountains. "Not quite. We've identified some irregularities in the soil, but there's still a lot to be done... Sir."

     "Well, you've done well so far," the Brigadier said. "I've been reviewing copies of your reports to see if they correlate with the movements of the border raiders from Drachma." The hint of cheerfulness showing on his usually serious face broke into a smile as he looked back down at the paper. "It's work worthy of the one of the Elric brothers."

     He nodded slowly. "Thank - -"

     His sentence was cut off by Captain Hawkeye opening the door and standing silently to the side at attention. Half a second later, _his brother_ stormed in, one metal leg clanking and a worn, brown trenchcoat billowing, carrying a crumpled piece of paper in his right hand. It could have been a scene right out of a daydream or even a memory -- though he'd clearly gotten slightly taller since he left. Even with the extra lifts added to the sole on his left shoe, his brother's stride was a little uneven as his metal leg didn't grow with him. He'd have to call Winry as soon as possible. Edward would probably be trapped in meetings with the generals for a long while.

     And of course, his brother could have gone anywhere. He hadn't gone to Resembool, where Alphonse might have expected him to look for... well, _him_. Or Winry, even if he wasn't remembering to get a new leg and arm. He hadn't even taken the time to call anyone. He'd come straight here.

     Still, he had to let out a long sigh of relief. It was one thing to have heard reports that he just knew _had_ to be his brother. It was quite another to see Edward with his own eyes, really there. One look at the tension falling out of the Brigadier's shoulders told Alphonse that he felt exactly the same way.

     "You're late, Fullmetal," Mustang said, relaxing back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest with a smirk.

     "Up yours." His brother reached the desk and slammed the paper down hard, the solid thump of his automail hand even rattling the window panes behind the desk. "Who's half-assed _now_, huh? Who're you saying sucks so much, he can't even find his way home across one little dimensional shift, and doesn't deserve to call himself an alchemist?!"

     "Oh, so you found my note?"

     Alphonse stared at the Brigadier, who looked horribly pleased with his brother's uproar. He was pretty sure he knew _which_ piece of paper that was. He hadn't been able to read it, but soon after Edward had gone back to Earth three years ago, his brother found something in his pocket and gotten so horribly upset upon seeing it that the feeling had been strong enough to wake Alphonse right up from the dream. That had been a piece of paper, he recalled. A piece of paper just like this one, which he'd found while he was looking for his keys. And his brother had certainly been angry enough to want to yell at the Brigadier _immediately_ upon arrival.

     _To think the Brigadier would have taken teasing Nii-san far enough to leave a note in his pocket! _

     Of course, there had been a kind of sadness about his dreams for the few nights before that -- a heavy, hopeless feeling that he'd almost forgotten about now, since it hadn't lasted long. If the Brigadier's decision to tease Edward from the other side of the gate was the reason that strange despair had disappeared, he might owe Mustang a thank you for his odd behavior.

     _Nii-san will never say it, after all_, he reflected as he watched his brother's screaming fit.

     "You can _take_ your note and shove it where the sun don't shine," Edward barked, arched over the desk in the Brigadier's face with his hands planted to either side of a pile of paperwork, "and then you and your note can _both go to hell_!" If he'd been a cat, his hair would have been standing all on end.

     "Nii-san!" Alphonse cried out. There was no mistake. _That_ was his brother.

     Edward's head whipped around and a huge smile filled his face. "Al!" In a flash of brown and yellow, his long-lost older brother sprinted back across the floor and squeezed him half to death with a hug. "Al! I made it! I'm back! How've you been?"

     "I can't breathe, Nii- san!"

     "Ah, sorry!" His brother stepped back, putting his hands up behind his head and grinning ear to ear. Alphonse knew his body was only fifteen, and his brother would be past twenty by now, but somehow he'd still managed to grow four inches taller.

     Best not to mention it.

     With a quick look at the uniform Alphonse was wearing, Edward continued, "Got you in blue, huh? Not bad."

     "I decided to take the test again a few months ago," he answered, holding up his silver watch with a grin before remembering that they were standing -- even if without formality -- in a ranking officer's presence. Alphonse glanced quickly over his brother's shoulder at the Brigadier. He wasn't trying to reclaim Edward's attention, and he didn't _look_ put out. In fact, he looked like he was just listening in.

     His brother nodded his head back toward Mustang's desk, saying, "And now you have to put up with _this_ jackass, huh?" The Brigadier General coughed quietly into his hand at the remark, but neglected to stop smiling. "How's he treating you?"

     Alphonse waved his hands frantically. "Oh, no! I work in Research," he said, assuming Mustang's expression meant it was all right to let the comment slide. He wasn't eager to pick a nit with his brother about how the Brigadier wasn't really a 'jackass'; Alphonse got the feeling that mentioning anything of the sort wouldn't go over any better than mentioning their height difference. But when the man was sitting _right there_\--

     Well, it was Edward, of course. Brigadier General Mustang of all people should understand that.

     "I was just stopping by to see you," Alphonse went on. "But Nii-san, how did you _do_ it? I would've thought we'd notice another gate opening, like last--" He paused for a second, remembering '_last time_'. In his excitement, he'd forgotten one thing: _a gate was a gate_. "There's not another army coming, is there?" he finished with some concern.

     Edward looked up toward the ceiling, scratching the back of his head with a sigh of deep thought emphasized by his brother's particular dramatic flair. On the one hand, it was the sort of thing his brother might follow with, 'No, of course not! Who do you think I am?' But on the other hand, what if this was one of the times he planned to follow it with, 'Maybe? But just a _little_ one!' ? Mustang made a more pointed cough this time, managing to look _slightly_ less pleased overall. His brother's eyebrow twitched, but kept his back to the desk, ignoring it.

     "Did you hear something, Al?"

     He shifted his eyes nervously between his brother and the desk. "Ah..."

     "_Fullmetal_," the Brigadier said intently.

     His brother whipped around with a snarl. "There's no army coming, _all right_?! It's just me," he snapped in the direction of the desk.

     "Thank you for the reassurance," Mustang answered, leaning his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands. "I'm not sure I could have heard the invasion over your stomping and screaming." Then the Brigadier General checked his watch with a troubled sigh and opened a nearby file on his desk. "Now, I'm sorry to interrupt the family reunion, Alphonse-kun, but I'm afraid I will need to hear Edward's _official_ report on crossing back _before_ he's called to give it to the advisory council."

     His brother bared his teeth in a slightly manic grin, as if there weren't anything he'd rather do. Alphonse remembered that look. That look usually meant trouble. Turning quickly back, he winked at Alphonse and slapped him on the shoulder. "You'd better tell me everything once you're off the clock," Edward said.

     Alphonse nodded, and heard Captain Hawkeye stepping out and closing the door. Meanwhile, he was still standing there. Should he follow her? The Brigadier hadn't asked him to leave, so that meant it was okay for him to stay and listen, right? And he really wanted to hear. There was a chance the military would decide it was classified information, of course, but Edward _would_ tell him later, which Mustang should know. Why not just stay to hear it now?

     He followed with only a slight hesitation as his brother strode over to one of the chairs in front of Mustang's desk. While he took the other seat, he couldn't help wondering if perhaps the Brigadier was just too busy having a glaring match with his brother to notice that he was still here. Well, his brother was glaring. The Brigadier was just as focused, but _he_ looked amused.

     "You want a report, Colonel? I'll give you a report."

     "Please. Enlighten me, Fullmetal," Mustang replied.

     Edward opened his jacket and reached into a pocket inside, rummaging for a moment before pulling out a thin brown hardcover book, which he then threw on the desk. Alphonse sat nervously in his chair, keeping his hands folded in his lap and his mouth closed, even though he very much wanted to know what was written there. He'd find out soon enough, he told himself. Meanwhile, his brother waited with uncharacteristic patience for Brigadier General Mustang to pick up the volume and flip through a few pages. After a moment, the Brigadier's one good eye went wide and his eyebrow arched high. While he scanned the text, engrossed, a small motion from his brother caught Alphonse's eye. Keeping his attention fixed on Mustang, he leaned forward and silently pulled the note he'd been so angry about off the desk. After he slid the paper into the pocket where the book had been, he resumed his old position and waited, eyes still locked on the progress of the Brigadier's reading. Finally, Mustang closed the little book again, looked with some confusion at the cover, and proceeded to redirect that confusion at his brother.

     "You published a novel?" the Brigadier asked, then glanced at the conspicuously empty desk where the note had been a moment earlier.

     Alphonse raised an eyebrow, turning from Mustang back to his brother, not quite sure whose behavior confused him more. Now he was both extra curious as to what was in the book and somewhat afraid to find out -- though not quite curious enough to completely stop wondering why Edward would want to keep that note. Hadn't he come to _return_ it?

     _Nii-san_, he worried inside his head. _What are you trying to do now? _

     His brother cleared his throat to call Mustang's attention back to the answer he was about to give and leaned forward on his knees, matching the Brigadier General stare for stare. Alphonse held his breath, waiting in a panic to hear what Edward was going to say.

     "_I fell down a rabbit-hole_," was the reply.

     He stared blankly at his brother's smug grin. Alphonse had expected something unexpected, but that was more unexpected than he'd really been prepared for.

     When Mustang sat back in his chair, leaning on one of the arm rests, Edward fell back in his own and crossed his arms across his chest.

     The Brigadier's expression turned deliberately calm, even though Alphonse was sure that _anyone_ would still be confused after something like that. As explanations went, it was awfully strange. "You fell down a rabbit-hole," he repeated.

     His brother just shrugged. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

     Cringing just a little, Alphonse wondered if Edward was _trying_ to make it obvious that he was lying, or if this was just his usual complete lack of concern for people's opinions.

     The Brigadier simply scratched his chin and replied, "I see." He didn't look very convinced. Alphonse had to admit, of course, that the story wasn't very convincing. Despite that, Mustang picked up a pen and set the point on the paper in front of him, tapping it a few times. He paused there, not writing, and turned the line of his attention back up to Edward with a troubled sigh.

     "Was this a particular rabbit-hole, or are Leporids on this 'Earth' _known_ for digging burrows that reach into other worlds?" he asked in a tone that Alphonse knew was sarcastic, but -- for once in his experience with the Brigadier -- thought might not be sarcastic _enough_. If he didn't know better, he would have said that Mustang was actually going to enter this into an official record, even though he had to know his brother was telling a story.

     The Brigadier could tell. Alphonse was _sure_ of it. Certainly, on an issue so important, when rumor had it Mustang had half the generals on the council watching his every move for another step out of line, he wouldn't help Edward tell a lie _that bad_.

     His brother jumped to his feet, tapping the cover of the book with his left hand and turning red in the face as he yelled. "Did you even read the first page?! Freaking huge rabbit, with a watch, _who talks_." Alphonse sat up a little higher in his chair, trying to get a better look at the cover. Sure enough, there was a rabbit there, standing on his hind legs and wearing a vest. "How obvious does a chimera have to be?!" Edward demanded. "And this girl follows him into a world _full_ of chimera and elixirs and... and _playing card golems_, for crying out loud! I thought it _had_ to be a dimensional rift. So I found it," his brother finished, sitting down with a shrug and crossing his arms again. "End of report."

     "Nii-san..." Alphonse broke in, wincing.

     Edward turned to face him with a questioning noise.

     "... Nevermind." He was sure his brother had thought about his story for a long time and determined that this was the best thing to do. It probably wasn't, since his brother was a horrible liar, but he certainly wouldn't be able to talk him out of it now.

     He'd ask what Edward thought he was doing, telling a story like that, sometime later -- after they'd left Central Headquarters and gone home for the evening.

     Besides, the Brigadier General would probably like to ask for himself, and there was _some_ pretense that this was his brother's report to a superior officer -- even if it strained credibility. Mustang was flipping through the book again, clearing his throat. Looking pointedly at Edward and then back at an early page, he started reading out the text.

     "Enquiries have been so often addressed to me," he began, and Alphonse saw an uncomfortable blush starting to rise on his brother's face, "as to whether any answer to the Hatter's riddle (_see page 60_) can be imagined, that I may as well put on record here what seems to me to be a fairly appropriate answer." Mustang narrowed his eyes at Edward, who looked up at a far corner of the room, brushing his bangs off his face. "Viz.," he began again, "'Because it can produce a few notes, though they are _very_ flat; and it is... '_nevar_' put with the wrong end in front." Shutting the book, he finished, "This, however, is merely an afterthought: the Riddle _as originally invented_, had no answer at all."

     His brother turned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "And?"

     Alphonse's head drooped, and his hands clenched tighter in his lap. He was fairly certain he was feeling enough embarrassment right at that moment to make up for his older brother's complete lack of shame.

     The Brigadier dropped the volume back on the desk and pushed it towards Edward, shaking his head. "_Honestly_, Fullmetal. If you're going to try and sell the council this kind of a fantasy, the least you could do is tear out the author's preface."

     "You want me to _tear pages out of a book_!?" his brother gasped, clenching his hands on the arm rails and turning as white as he'd been red a moment before.

     The rising level of murderous rage in the air was enough to make Alphonse wince again. His brother _really_ liked books.

     "I'd prefer it if you'd tell me what you're so intent on keeping out of your official account," Mustang replied, closing the file and pushing it away. "Nursery stories aside."

     Edward grinned, fishing inside another pocket in his jacket -- this time, one on the outside. "Check _this_ out," he said with a laugh. His tone made Alphonse perk up. The glimpses of this and that he'd seen in his dreams over the past few years -- the strange diagrams and equations flashing piecemeal before his eyes as he slept -- were all things he couldn't trust himself to reproduce when he woke up, let alone understand without context. If Edward was about to explain what had actually happened, he didn't want to miss an instant.

     A moment later, his brother set a brass machine not much bigger than a pocket watch on the desk. It stood on a tripod, with tube the size of his little finger on one leg feeding into a tiny maze of capillaries that surrounded a clear globe. Inside was another globe, mounted like a gyroscope and filled with tiny gears. The overall shape and construction was vaguely familiar. He could recall an image or two of his brother at work in a small, wood-paneled room, shaping grey spheres like the ones mounted in the gear-work and testing them somehow.

     _Iron_.

      He remembered the iron shavings his brother used in the tests, how they snapped into lines radiating out of opposite points on the spheres, how Edward had measured the distance of the furthest row of shavings when he'd picked the ones he'd used, and how he'd marked the points on the surface where those lines converged.

     _Magnets. They were magnets_, Alphonse recalled.

     Edward pulled the book a few inches closer and placed the brass tripod carefully on top. Leaning down, he blew into the large tube gently, soft enough that Alphonse couldn't even hear him exhale.

     The gears moved slowly, spinning the six magnets inside the central globe in erratic orbits around nothing. After the initial revolution, they rearranged abruptly with a clank, now spinning in cleaner, more perfect circles. As they did, both device and book seemed to wobble -- even while sitting firmly on the solid desk. Alphonse's eyes widened slightly, then darted up to look at the Brigadier. Even Roy Mustang wasn't bothering to look disinterested. His eyes were fixed on the unstable book and the strange little device with a great deal of fascination.

     His brother stopped blowing and looked up at the Brigadier. As the gears slowed, the book regained its steadiness. "It's a Quantum Dimensional Oscillator," he said. "Those magnets spinning in there set up an electromagnetic field -- six of them to lay in an exact vector to push me back home. The faster they spin, the stronger the field."

     Frowning, Alphonse considered that, even with the scattered dreams of his brother's years on the other side of the gate, he couldn't quite make sense of the explanation. He knew what magnets were, and he knew what electricity was, but he had never heard of _electromagnetics_, and he didn't immediately see how a spinning magnet could make you unstuck in space the way he'd just seen it work on the book. He'd only ever known them to stick to metal. That was fine, though. He'd have all the time in the world to get his brother to explain the theory properly. It was more the word 'push' that was bothering him, since it sounded like his brother had decided to put himself on the head of a kind of invisible battering ram to open the door between the two worlds. He'd seen the tremendous amount of power it had taken to open the gate Edward had stepped through to get lost in the first place, and the invading army's gate had uprooted most of the city. That was no small level of force.

     _Nii-san, why must you always dive in recklessly like that? What if you'd gotten hurt? _

     It was some consolation that his brother was standing right in front of him without a scratch, clearly unharmed by the trip. "I hooked this thing up to a steam engine," he was saying while Alphonse worried, "and _boom_! Here I was, headfirst in a haystack on some farm in the middle of nowhere. Gave the farmer what was left of the steam hose. I think he used it to patch a fence."

     "Lucky for your head there was a haystack to land in, I suppose."

     His brother scoffed at what Alphonse considered a perfectly legitimate expression of concern, and Brigadier General Mustang picked up the device to examine it more closely. "Please tell me that _you_ built this, and that there aren't any more like it," he continued, his tone quiet and serious.

     Alphonse turned back to his brother nervously. He'd said that there wasn't an army coming through _now_, it was true, but he'd created a travel device in only three years. What if more people in that world could do the same? What was more, he'd come through without anyone noticing him until he'd walked into Central Headquarters. The only thing that might deservedly put the country more on alert than a possible invasion was a possible _sneaky_ invasion.

     "That's the only one," Edward answered, which relieved Alphonse at least. Mustang didn't look nearly as reassured. His brother shrugged and sat down again, going on without the least concern. "I brought all my notes with me, too. Not that it'd do 'em much good if they had a spare, though, since it only worked because I didn't belong there."

     The Brigadier General frowned, turning a questioning stare from the little object in his hand to where Edward was lazing in his chair. "What do you mean by that?"

     "Well, in _theory_ you could set it up so they could come here, or one of us could go there," his brother replied, scratching the tip of his nose while he scrunched up his face, and sounding more put-out by the second, "but you'd have to be able to align the magnets in the fifth and sixth dimensions, and you'd need a hell of a lot more power than _I_ used." As he went on talking, Edward's face lit up with the grin he always had when he felt particularly brilliant. "It turns out, a strong magnet reacts to the way electromagnetic fields got warped all around me, and I figured that'd carry across to all the dimensions. I decided to try making the gears self-adjusting so they could set up a vector on their own. And, boy, could I feel it when I got _that_ right. It was like a sock straight to the gut -- I couldn't even eat til the next _day_."

     The comment left Alphonse's toes curling in his shoes. Possibly it would be more reasonable not to be overly concerned for Edward's general health and well-being because of a _temporary_ inability to eat when his brother was now clearly safe and sound. He was just over -reacting. But on the other hand, his brother couldn't possibly have done enough testing to make sure his little mechanism was safe before he'd tried it. For all he could have known, this method he'd found could have put him in serious danger. Then again, was there an option he _could_ have been sure was safe, without an arrangement that would let him see through the gate to the result of a 'push' to Amestris? The fact that his brother was sitting here at all was only because he took those kinds of stupid risks. Yelling out '_Nii-san, what if you'd died!?_' would be like saying he shouldn't have bothered to come home. That was the last thing Alphonse wanted, to be sure.

     Silence dragged on as Alphonse tried to put out of mind both the potential dangers and the fact that his brother didn't seem to notice them properly. Meanwhile, Edward looked quickly back and forth between Alphonse and Mustang. "What's with you two?"

     The Brigadier was staring right back at his brother, not exactly looking as terrified for Edward's safety as Alphonse felt, but not best pleased either. Then Mustang closed his eye, rubbing his forehead with a quiet sigh. "Nothing," he said, turning back to reexamine the array of magnets in the apparatus his brother had produced. "So, you're saying this would be definitively impossible to align?" he asked after thinking for a moment. "Even for _you_?"

     Alphonse was terribly uncertain what was meant by aligning _anything_ in more than three dimensions, but as Mustang seemed willing to accept the concept for the moment, he bit his tongue as well. The fact that Edward meant it to sound difficult was clear enough, certainly, even without the glimpses of many-colored diagrams that had bled across the connection between his brother and himself, full of curving lines and unfamiliar marks and arrows pointing every which way. Another thing for the list of things he'd ask his brother to explain later, he supposed.

     Edward's face settled into a dark scowl, and his voice fairly dripped with irritation. "Wouldn't be a piece of cake, but yeah, it might be possible."

     "And how much power would you say is '_a hell of a lot_'?" Mustang asked next.

     "You know," Edward replied, "there's a reason why I don't want the military to have that thing."

     Mustang broke his stare away from the tripod, turning a raised eyebrow on his brother as he set the device down on the desk. "Well, then. I imagine you must be certain that nothing _like_ it will bring itself to their attention. So reassure me -- how _much_ power?"

     Edward's annoyance clearly wasn't wilted in the least by the Brigadier's expression, but no one would want to be the person who _could_ have warned the country about an invasion and _didn't_. Alphonse was sure that even _his brother_ would have to admit it was a relevant question. "To blow a hole in the fabric of the universe and turn it inside out? How about a _metric fuckton_?"

     _Apparently not_.

     "In standard units, please, Fullmetal," Mustang said, crossing his arms and using a tone that anyone would know who'd seen his brother and the Brigadier in the same room together. It was a tone that said he was willing to be _very_ patient, and that no one would be leaving until he got an answer he liked.

     After letting out a frustrated sigh, Edward shut his eyes tight and dropped his chin down to think hard before answered. A moment later, he said, "Around... six trillion, seven hundred thirty-six thousand one hundred seventy billion, sixty-four thousand six hundred thirty-two million, four hundred forty-eight thousand two hundred eleven point eight joules." Opening his eyes again, he glared at the Brigadier. "Ish. You know, _a lot_." When the only response Mustang had was to aim an exaggerated look of concern at the device with a sigh, he shot to his feet again, slamming his hands on the desk. "You'd need the combined energy of about a billion loaded trucks doing 160, all right?" he yelled. "All aimed at the _head of a pin_!"

     Alphonse cringed, recoiling from the tempers flaring around him and wishing they could just go back to being happy his brother was back home in one piece, as increasingly unlikely as the prospect seemed.

     After considering a moment longer, Mustang took his seat, folding his hands and turning his gaze away from the strange little artifact in the middle of his desk to laugh softly at the overreaction. Edward, at least, seemed to calm down. Alphonse wasn't sure whether he should be more relieved that his brother had found some loophole that had kept him from needing that much power, or worried that some army from one world or the other would find a loophole like it and start another war. Both what he was saying about the astronomical force making a gate would require and what he was saying about having bypassed that force sounded like he was telling the truth.

     Quieter now, with a little less irritation in his stance, his brother flicked the tripod with his finger. "I don't think a toy like that could take much more than I fed it without busting, let alone _that_ kind of pressure. Not to mention the unlucky bastard who'd get splattered trying it out."

     Alphonse saw the Brigadier's eye widen for an instant when those last words came out of Edward's mouth. As for himself, he thought his heart might stop. If there was anything more nervewracking than thinking his brother hadn't stopped to imagine the possible repercussions of his actions, it was knowing he _had_ done so and then proceeded without so much as a helmet.

     It seemed very unlikely that his brother had bothered with a helmet.

     "Then I'm glad you had so much success with your _steam engine_," Mustang said, his expression turning stern. "If you were to 'splatter' like an ordinary man, I'd be in a bit of a difficult situation here."

     "Are you calling me a liar?" Edward growled.

     "Asks the man who's planning to say he fell through a rabbit-hole."

     His brother's spine went straight and his face apoplectic with anger as he yelled "_That's different!_" before retreating a step to collapse into his chair with visible annoyance. Edward slumped down and closed his eyes, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Where's Einstein when you need him?" he muttered. "I hate explaining this shit."

     Alphonse had his hazy memories telling him that this was just how the two of them behaved, fighting like two cats with one fish to share over every little thing, but in a way, this was the first time he'd seen it with his own eyes. If they really did get along this badly, why was Mustang's office the first place his brother had decided to go? Surely even an aggravating note wouldn't make him head to Central _to see someone he couldn't stand_ instead of to Resembool.

     _Well, actually... I suppose Nii-san just might._

     Alphonse turned from his brother's slouched figure to the man on the other side of the desk, and when he looked, he had to blink to be certain he wasn't imagining things -- specifically, the way the Brigadier's face had changed after Edward had closed his eyes. The hard mask of the man who'd been chiding his brother not two seconds before had melted away into the face of someone who wasn't the least bit upset. He looked _fond_ \-- even happy, with a hint of a smile that was nothing at all like a smirk crossing his lips. Just... It was maybe silly to think, but Alphonse had the oddest certainty that Brigadier General Mustang was _just glad to see him_.

     And why would Mustang have written his brother a taunting note anyway, if not to make sure he would find a way back? Even if it was only to throw that note in his face...

     And then inexplicably steal it back to put in his pocket. Perhaps his brother wasn't as upset as he'd claimed?

     _No_, Alphonse thought. _That would just be silly_. He was sure he could tell when his brother was really, actually upset and when he was playing. There _must_ have been another reason.

     The Brigadier caught his stunned stare before too long; Alphonse saw Mustang look in his direction quickly before clearing his throat and adjusting his expression again to one that was better suited to an officer taking a subordinate's report. "I'm quite clear on the level of power that was required to open doors between the two worlds in the past," Mustang said to break the silence, checking his watch, then pulling the file he'd opened earlier toward him and taking up his pen. "Human transmutation, the construction you described during the invasion... That makes perfect sense. Your steam engine and magnetic paperweight are another matter entirely."

     Edward stopped brooding enough to open one eye and reply in a surly tone. "Yeah, well, I wasn't trying to flip time and space on their asses, was I?" he said, not even bothering to sit up. "I'd already done it when I walked through to _their_ side."

     "How convenient," Mustang replied, answering his brother's slouch by not looking up from the notes he was writing in his file. "Explain that, if you would, Fullmetal."

     "It's like..." His brother sat up properly when he began, pausing and screwing up his face like he'd never thought harder in his life. "It's like there's not two worlds, there's just one world, but we're the front and they're the back. Or like... Here, look at this." Edward pulled off one of this gloves, waiting for Mustang to look up. "See this? How it's got an inside and an outside?"

     From the way the Brigadier hid his mouth behind his hands when he leaned his elbows on the desk, Alphonse had a suspicion that he was smiling that smile again. "Oh, certainly," he said. "Go on."

     His brother tore a hole open in the back of the glove with a jerk and reached in to pull a point of fabric from the inside up through the hole in a peak, twisting the whole glove around strangely. Alphonse remembered a diagram like this, too, from a little over a year ago. He'd tried to sketch it in his dream journal about three times and scratched them all out as too confusing before the image left in his memory had faded. "That was me. _That_ took work. But to go back through..."

     Edward picked the glove up by one end, and as the twists in the fabric righted themselves, the peak he'd pulled from the inside the glove fell back into place. "No major pressure required. And the whole matter-energy-space system has one big electromagnetic field that I'd gotten all twisted up around me because I'm from _here_, where everything's upside-down and backwards to _there_, and-- _Don't laugh when people are talking to you_!"

     He looked up from his brother's glove demonstration to see that the Brigadier had dropped his hands and was trying to contain a full-blown grin. It only took a moment for him to succeed at containing it, resuming the pleasant expression he'd been wearing when Alphonse had first walked in. "It's good to have you here, Fullmetal," Mustang said and picked up his pen once more.

     Pulling his glove back onto his hand, his brother grumbled, "Don't you even _think_ I came back because of that stupid note you left in my pocket, either. I would've done it anyway."

     "Oh, you fulfilled my expectations precisely."

     The Brigadier and his brother stared each other down for another moment without speaking. The atmosphere wasn't exactly _hostile_, but Alphonse had the uncomfortable feeling that, as interesting as his brother's explanations _were_, stepping outside with Captain Hawkeye might have been a better choice.

     His brother scowled and sighed, turning his eyes away as he clapped his hands and touched the rip in his glove, healing it up like it had never been. As he did, the Brigadier turned, thoroughly fascinated, to the little curiosity sitting on his desk. When Edward looked up and noticed, he spoke again, this time more quietly than before.

     "I'm serious when I say I don't want the brass to know that thing exists. There's a known process to open that door from our end. If they find out they can get back here with no problem, they might want to use it."

     The Brigadier General looked hard at the construction of metal and glass, pushing it slowly in a circle with one finger and narrowing his eyes in thought before finally pushing it back towards Edward. His brother didn't even say a proper 'thank you' when he picked it up and put it back in his pocket, but both men gave each other a look that told Alphonse they'd reached whatever understanding they'd needed. Mustang pulled the novel back across the desk and started to page through the text, tapping his pen on the paper. "As much as I'd like to let you go, I received a message a few minutes before you both came in that the Council of Generals wants to hear your official report _today_," he said, pausing to check his watch again before resuming his examination of the rabbit story. "...In rather less than half an hour. Congratulations, Fullmetal: your sudden and miraculous appearance at our front door has caused the Council to set new records for efficiency."

     His brother let out a quiet laugh that didn't sound amused.

     "I know that you and Alphonse have a great deal to catch up on. Quite frankly, I wouldn't mind taking you out for a drink myself, but I've been ordered to escort you to chambers at 4:30 PM. That doesn't leave much time here."

     "What, you mean you're not Fuhrer already?"

     Mustang looked up from the book briefly, but didn't reply.

     "Look, I've got it," Edward continued. "I'll go, and we'll get this overwith." Then, he turned to Alphonse to say, "I'll find you over in R&amp;D once they're done with me, Al. I'm sorry."

     "Oh no, that's pretty much what I expected, Nii-san. I'll wait for you." He stood up from his chair, not certain if he should salute or not now that he wasn't technically alone with the Brigadier. Eventually, Alphonse decided that having his brother for company made the group less formal and not more so. He bowed quietly to excuse himself, and started walking towards the door.

     Over his shoulder, he heard the Brigadier asking, "Are you certain that a _magic rabbit-hole_ is the best you can do?"

     Alphonse turned back around once he'd pulled the door open a crack, just in time to see his brother fishing something else out from inside his coat.

     This time, it was a _green_ book. "I've got one with flying monkeys and silver shoes," he said, not sounding any more worried than when he'd suggested the rabbit. "Would that be better?"

     With a smile, he stepped out and closed the door behind him, saluting Captain Hawkeye again before walking slowly back to the laboratory. _His brother_ was home, after all.

     Everything was going to be all right.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "Down the Rabbit-Hole" is the title of the first chapter of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. Subsequent chapter titles have all been similarly chosen. Virtual cookies for anyone who can guess a source book.
> 
> 2) Col. Blackburn: named for the Blackburn Roc (fighter plane, RAF)  
> Heinkel: named for a series of night fighters used by the Luftwaffe  
> Avia: named for a Czechoslovakian bi-plane.
> 
> 3) Mustang's quote from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is from Lewis Carroll's original "Preface to the Eighty-Sixth Thousand", Christmas 1896. Later editions were revised such that "never" was properly spelled, but the original was intended as a pun (wherein the word "raven" had been "put with the wrong end in front").
> 
> 4) "6,736,170,064,632,448,211.8 joules"
> 
> The amount of energy contained in mass equivalent to the weight of an average German adult, according to the formula E=mc^2 -- an attempt to estimate the energy produced by human transmutation. Because I lack any ability to "just make something up", this number was in fact calculated. It should not, however, be considered to have any more meaning than a random number, as the mass of the human is not shown to affect the transmutation. I simply wished to generate a number of sufficient scale.
> 
> The further estimate of one billion trucks was determined by using the approximation that a one-ton vehicle would use one megajoule (one million joules) of energy to move at 160 kilometers per hour. I used the maximum safe road weight of a 2-axle truck of the type seen in the series (approximately 7.2 tons) to determine a minimum number: 935,579,175,644 trucks. This was rounded up to the next place value to allow for variances in weight, and to make the number simpler to read (in contrast to the previous number, which was meant to be long and complicated).
> 
> 5) "Thousand Billion"?
> 
> Edward's phrasing of this number is given in long-scale notation. Translating into short-scale notation (more common in America), the number Edward gives would be written as: 6 quintillion, 736 quadrillion, 170 trillion, 64 billion, 632 million, 448 thousand, 211 point 8 joules. The number of trucks he mentions would likewise be one trillion.
> 
> 6) The Quantum Dimensional Oscillator
> 
> Fair warning: I am not a quantum physicist, and my theories may contradict subjective statements by characters in the anime or manga.
> 
> The "gate" between the two worlds seems to be a physical manifestation of the alchemical energy circulated from Earth through the alchemist, appearing when transferred in excessive levels. The path it creates to Earth is clearly a physical link, but also proceeds in an "invisible" direction reminiscent of a three-dimensional space intersecting with a fourth-dimensional motion. By analogy explored at length in [the full note](http://psiten.livejournal.com/26444.html), I have related this to a three-dimensional cube that is the side of a tesseract -- with Earth being the cube as the "inside" limit of the tesseract and Amestris as the "outside" limit of the tesseract.
> 
> Though the two worlds have separate three-dimensional existences, forces such as alchemical energy and electromagnetism are active in the fourth dimension. When Edward transfers his material form from the "outside" of the four-dimensional space to the "inside", he thereby creates a tiny fold in the electromagnetic fields of the full, multi-dimensional structure in a similar fashion to the twisting effect he demonstrated with his glove.
> 
> As the relevant time period he spends on Earth is during the height of initial development for multi-dimensional space theory and especially quantum electrodynamics, it seemed plausible that the scientists he consulted would be able to introduce him to these concepts. Moreover, strong magnetic fields have a demonstrated ability to realign nearby magnetic fields -- such as magnetizing a piece of metal or aligning metal shavings. The Quantum Dimensional Oscillator was designed on the theory that the "fold" in the electromagnetic structure of surrounding space created when Edward came to Earth could be undone by application of a corrective magnetic force, thus placing his material form in its original plane.
> 
> The astronomically high estimate of power required to create such a fold reflects the observation that only levels of force found in black holes are able to exert such effects on electromagnetic structures. However, this also implies a resistance in those electromagnetic structures that should already be exerting great force on Edward while he is "folded". Given this, a much lesser force would be required to undo this fold than would be required to create one from nothing -- hence the steam engine and magnetic paperweight.
> 
> My apologies to science.


	2. "Home Again"

     "And, ah..."

     All heads turned to the furthest corner of the room, where Major General Saulnier cleared her throat and tapped her pen slowly on the table before looking at Brigadier General Mustang.

     "I take it that you believe this rabbit-hole story?" she asked.

     The echo of shuffling papers and the scratch of pens filling the silence in the council hall was doing little to take the edge off what had been one of the most harrowing half hours in Col. Blackburn's military career. He'd been on battlefields, had held his position and faced down enemies, but he'd never been the type to attract attention. He certainly didn't remember doing anything that would get him the kind of attention that involved being summoned without notice by the eleven members of the Council of Generals (with the Fuhrer Oliver H.P. Halifax himself also in attendance) to hear Brigadier General Mustang recount what he had called a folktale from this other world -- about a girl named Alice having a series of bizarre adventures in a place the storyteller had called "Wonderland".

     Well, he wasn't quite sure what he'd just heard, as the story had been more than a bit bewildering, but he was even less sure why he'd been called to hear it. All he'd done was redirect Lieutenant Colonel Elric (it seemed the Fullmetal Alchemist had been promoted in his absence) to the office of Internal Security, where Roy Mustang appeared quite content to have taken responsibility for the situation.

     Unnervingly content, really.

     Blackburn flinched at the sudden scrape of Marshal Lavochkin's chair on the floor, cutting through the quiet room like a shot. Even from the other side of the room, the Marshal's otherwise silent dissatisfaction was enough to make him sweat; but when he turned his head slowly back to the witness table, he could see that Brigadier General Roy Mustang stood at ease, facing General Saulnier's question without any hint of concern. He'd only met the Brigadier a time or two before this, always in passing. That had been quite enough to terrify him, mostly because he'd never understood what made the man so special. In the hallways, the hum of the air changed when he walked by, and his career was a legend. It wasn't every man who made Brigadier by thirty, let alone getting his rank _back_ by thirty-four after talking his way out of accusations that he'd killed Fuhrer King Bradley (better than half the officers were sure he'd done it, too) _and_ the irrefutable fact that he'd been responsible for about one and a half coups d'etat within a two-year span.

     _And now he's in charge of Security!_

     But even if Mustang could do _that_, Blackburn still didn't know how he could stand before the leaders of the military and testify that Elric had returned through a _rabbit-hole_. Whatever spark it was that made the Flame Alchemist legendary, at least he could be sure he never wanted it for himself.

     "What's not to believe?" Mustang asked. "From the reports during the invasion three years ago, it was clear that many people on 'Earth' have developed mythology of this sort around our world."

     No fear, no worry. If he had to put any cast on that demeanor, it would have to have been 'surprise'. But then, the Brigadier General _couldn't_ have been worrying that his story was ridiculous. Worries like that would have stopped him from telling that story in the first place, what with its _vanishing cats_ and its mushrooms that changed your shape and size.

     Was that meant to be _here_?

     What the hell would make anyone think that the nonsensical fantasy land the Brigadier had described was meant to be _here_? Maybe he wasn't a genius like Edward Elric, but his understanding of reality did not include talking rabbits who made their burrows in 'natural rifts' that the Fullmetal Alchemist could use to travel between _worlds_. Nor any queen in any country in history who had kept an army of playing cards, for that matter. Surely someone would have _noticed_.

     But beyond all those wonderings about incredible things, the point that Blackburn had the most trouble understanding was why _he_ was here. _In this room_.

     Blackburn shifted his gaze to Mustang's right to examine the newly returned Elric, who had yet to speak for himself. He was startlingly young to be a Lieutenant Colonel. Of course, Blackburn had known his story (everyone did), but now that he was sitting in the same room, it seemed that Elric was even younger-looking than the twenty-one years he understood the man to have. On the other hand, Elric seemed far more comfortable in front of the council than Blackburn felt himself. He'd yielded the floor right off to Mustang -- to whom he said he'd given a full report and who'd be able to tell the Generals what they needed to know 'efficiently' -- and then he'd started _scowling_. He was casting a steady glare over at the left-hand table, slouched just low enough in his chair that he could rest his right leg on the table rail.

     If Blackburn wasn't mistaken, the young man was engaging in a _staring contest_ with Lieutenant General Mistan Bloch, and the red-headed General was smirking back. Well, perhaps General Bloch knew something about the story that the others didn't? He was the Rubicon Alchemist, after all -- the only State Alchemist to be named to the Council to date. But surely if he'd heard something amiss, he'd have mentioned it. The man hadn't objected once in the course of Mustang's testimony. As Blackburn understood it, that was practically a record.

     "I am given to understand that opening such a gate takes an extraordinary amount of effort, preparation and skill, Brigadier General." Hakuro's voice boomed across the hall from his new seat next to the Fuhrer. His recent promotion to full General didn't seem to have helped his temper. "The idea that any man could stumble upon one by accident is, quite frankly, ludicrous."

     "Well, certainly, it takes significant work to create a link between the two worlds," Mustang replied without hesitating. At his side, Elric turned towards the Brigadier, the first time he'd broken his staring match with Bloch during the entire proceeding. "As you, my honored colleagues, will know, it also takes a certain degree of effort, preparation, and skill -– not to mention resources -– to build a canal, but rivers do exist." The blond alchemist snorted quietly and tried to hide a smile behind his hand, but Blackburn could see the very edge of it. Mustang turned his steady calm on the sound of amusement, finishing with, "_Mr. Elric_ has explained to my satisfaction that this kind of link is no different."

     The surly blond, who had begun glaring at Mustang after his last sentence, sat up straighter in his chair and removed his leg from the table rail while the council members whispered among themselves. If the Brigadier General had noticed the change in Elric's posture, he didn't give any indication of it.

     "Clarify that, if you would, Lt. Colonel Elric," General Saulnier asked.

     The alchemist cleared his throat. "Well, that's a bit simplified, but he's got the basic idea."

     "I think we'd all like to know exactly what we're dealing with here." Blackburn's own direct commander, Lt. General Fieseler, was seated closest to their end of the room on the right, and his loud voice was even more humorless than usual.

     Elric sighed, leaning his head back and rubbing his eyes. "Let's see. Interdimensional tunnels, huh?" He sat up and scanned all the generals' faces. "The thing is probability density, all right? You see, the energy we use in transmutation here exists in both worlds, but it's not _energy_ in the normal sense -- potential, kinetic, whatever. It's... ah. _Stuff_. The scientists on Earth call it... well..." The blond coughed into his hand. "Since it's both a _particle_ of matter and subject to interference patterns that're unique to _wave forms_, they call it a _wavicle_. It's a tiny piece of subatomic matter that can exist simultaneously on both parallel planes, 'cause it's essentially decomposed already."

     All through the council chamber, the commanding generals of the military nodded slowly, some of them hovering a pen over a notepad without being sure what to write down and all of them with wide eyes fixed on the Fullmetal Alchemist. Blackburn, personally, had no idea what Elric was talking about.

     "If you get a high concentration of wavicles in one region, like when an alchemist does a massive enough transmutation, matter that's filled with 'em gets pulled through the aether, but it's a one-way trip. Obviously."

     "Perhaps you could explain to those of us who aren't alchemists why that's so obvious, Lt. Colonel," said Marshal Lavochkin. Blackburn had been wondering himself, but the Marshal, as the second highest ranked officer in the military, was in a much better position to refuse to be bewildered.

     "Have you ever tried to stick two magnets, north end to north end?" Elric asked in reply. "This has the same problem. You can't reverse the polarity."

     "And we should take your word on that?"

     Elric looked at him like he'd never heard a more stupid question in his life. "Well, you can try to do it, if you _want_. I won't stop you. But where was I?" He rubbed the back of his head as he thought. "Right. Probability density. So, in its dormant state, the wavicle is technically... well, anywhere and everywhere. Being close enough to decomposition to be in both planes means you can't actually pin it down to any one spot in any one world. So, given a spot in either place, or a cross-mapped point in both places, there's only a _chance_ that any given wavicle will be there, and it's not an equal chance for each spot. That's probability density -- how likely it is that you've got a wavicle around. And when a region maps with a high probability density for a large enough number of wavicles, it's possible to have a convergence equivalent to what a major alchemical reaction generates, since all a transmutation really _does_ is alter the probability density of the space around it. A natural convergence that size is rare, sure. Hell, before I tracked that one down, it was _theoretical_. But the story in that book matched the phenomenon way too well not to check it out. And so, here I am."

     "_Probability density_," said Marshal Wright, the only man besides the Fuhrer who outranked Lavochkin. His voice dripped with incredulity.

     _But really_, Blackburn thought to himself, _if a genius like him took three years to study it, which of us will understand in less than three minutes?_

     "Yeah," Elric answered. "Probability density. What do you think made that Alice girl fall so slow?"

     A hush fell over the council as the generals considered the alchemist's story and the calm smile on Mustang's face. Major General Saulnier tapped the end of her pen twice on the table, deep in thought, before finally saying, "So a canal and a river, as you said, Brigadier General Mustang. Please continue your report."

     "Yes, Madam Secretary. I have nothing further," the Brigadier replied. "I merely commend Mr. Elric's creative use of local folklore in finding such a natural connection. His ingenuity in this case is not to be doubted."

     "Certainly," said the Fuhrer, speaking up at last. "We'll need to study that book, of course."

     "I want it back," Elric put in, sounding just as accusatory as he looked.

     Mustang turned to look at him. Just _looked_, and the Fullmetal Alchemist, who hadn't had a word to say to Blackburn except '_You're not Colonel Mustang_' glared back, but fell silent.

     It was Marshal Levochkin who answered. "Your property will be returned _when and if_ we determine that there is no danger to the state in leaving it unclassified. Thank you for your debriefing on the Lieutenant Colonel's report, Brigadier General. A few last questions, Lieutenant Colonel, if you would."

     "Shoot."

     As Mustang took his chair, he knocked Elric's with his leg so smoothly that from the council's position it would have been impossible to see that he'd done it. The blond alchemist's chair moved back a few inches, while the man himself shot a dirty look at the Brigadier and stood with some reluctance. Through the whole scene, Mustang studied his notes as if nothing had happened.

     "Yes, Marshal, sir," the Fullmetal Alchemist corrected himself.

     The Marshal leaned over his table, intent on the blond. "Now, if you appeared in the East as Brigadier General Mustang related to us earlier, then I assume you did not have to, ah..." Lavochkin paused to examine the notes he'd taken. "Find yourself trapped in a strange, deserted building, which you could only escape by _shrinking yourself_ with a magic elixir so that you could fit through an unusually tiny door?" At the words 'shrinking yourself', Elric turned red in the face and nearly flew over the table. He probably would have if Mustang hadn't caught him by the elbow just as he started to move. He was settled again by the time the Marshal looked up to say, "I'm not aware of any residence fitting that description within Amestris."

     "That's right," Elric growled.

     "But you fell through the same passageway? With the floating furniture and the, ah..." He paused to check his notes again. "The marmalade?"

     The alchemist's eyes narrowed at the Marshal. "Well, I can't actually confirm _the marmalade_. I didn't check the groceries while I was falling."

     "Where exactly did you appear when you fell through your rabbit-hole?"

     Elric answered plainly, straight to the point. "Small farm, 6 kilometers due north of Stravik Town. Big red barn. Can't miss it."

     Leaning back in his chair, Lavochkin narrowed his eyes at the alchemist. "Falling through the same rabbit-hole as this Alice girl, I would have expected a more similar result." He might as well have said, '_You're lying_,' the disbelief in his tone was so thick.

     "Why?" Elric replied, shaking his head. "Sure, the probability density on the _other_ side is basically constant, but they can't use alchemy. If a two-bit alchemist on this side decides to transmute _a scuff off his shoes_, it'll change how wavicles are arranged. Over here, we've got a state of constant minor flux." If what he'd said before were true, Blackburn supposed that _could_ follow. "What do you think half the stuff _I'm_ responsible for would do?" he asked and flicked his eyes toward Mustang, then toward Bloch. "Or what my _esteemed colleagues_ have done, for that matter? I would've been more surprised if I did land where Alice had, assuming it's even still there. That story isn't exactly from last week."

     The Marshal let out a heavy breath as the rest of the council thought in silence. At last Marshal Lavochkin turned to Marshal Wright, who gave a small nod, and the assembled generals all shuffled their papers to new business. Among them, only General Hakuro looked significantly displeased. "Colonel Blackburn?" Lavochkin asked, turning his attention toward the side table -- followed by the eyes of everyone assembled in the room.

     He dropped the pen he'd been holding to keep his hands busy and shot to his feet. "Yes, Marshal, _sir_!" Blackburn called out with a sharp salute. He heard his pen roll off the table and twitched at the clatter when it hit the floor, but he didn't step out of attention.

     "Are you familiar with the region near Stravik Town?"

     "Well, yes," he answered, confused. Of course he knew Stravik Town. He administered the East, so he knew all the towns --

     _Oh. No wonder they summoned me, then._

     "I mean, yes, sir!" he amended.

     "I'll still be overseeing the Colonel's work, Marshal?" General Fieseler broke in. It took all Blackburn's composure not to sigh in relief when the weight of those many highly ranked eyes turned away.

     Lavochkin nodded. "He'll stay in your chain of command."

     Blackburn's commander turned back to him to issue orders. "Find this farm and establish a watch," Fieseler continued. "We'll meet later to discuss your findings. This council will need to know if anything else appears, and what you can find out about the rabbit-hole. Whether there are any traces of it, any effects, anything or anyone drifting through. Whether it's a portal we can use to go the other direction."

     "I'm sorry, were you not listening? _It was a one-way rabbit-hole_,” Elric interrupted.

     Mustang coughed quietly, which got him another dirty look from the blond but also got the alchemist to sit quietly.

     "Thank you, General Fieseler," Lavochkin said, ignoring the alchemist's outburst, before he turned back to face Blackburn. "Anything you can determine, Colonel. But be discreet. This is a matter of national security."

     "Yes, Marshal, sir." He saluted and took his seat, ready to be ignored again at last.

     The Fuhrer shuffled his stack of papers into a neat stack with a sharp rap on the table. "Well, if there are no further points of discussion, allow me to welcome you home, Lieutenant Colonel Elric.” The blond's upper lip twitched every time the Fuhrer or one of the generals used his rank. “Your talent has been greatly missed. Our next matter of business is assigning you to active duty."

     "Given his previous experience in the East--” Marshal Lavochkin began.

     Blackburn thought his heart might stop beating.

     _No, no, no! Oh, please, anything but that!_

     “--and the particular expertise he brings to this matter, I feel it would be best to assign the Lieutenant Colonel to the new detail investigating this end of the rabbit-hole."

     Elric's head whipped toward Mustang, and the Brigadier General acknowledged him with a cool nod and a wave to sit back.

     "I disagree," General Bloch responded. "From the way the Lieutenant Colonel described the phenomenon, I'd say that sending him to that farm to do further study is the most absurd waste of resources I could imagine. His _expert knowledge_ indicates to me that the only thing we can be sure of is that the rabbit-hole won't open in the same place twice. Any research team should be based in Central. He'll be far more use here, perhaps finding a way to track shifting probability density."

     "Actually, Heisenb--"

     Mustang delivered another subtle kick to the blond's chair, causing him to fall abruptly silent just as every eye in the room turned to face him.

     "If you know something about tracking these patterns, Lt. Colonel Elric, you're free to share it with us," General Fieseler said.

     The alchemist scratched the back of his head with an embarrassed grimace. "A guy named Heisenberg just proved that you can't actually _track_ them. Measuring where a wavicle is changes how it moves."

     General Hakuro pushed up from his seat with a snarl. "This is preposterous! Magic _rivers_ of things that can't be seen or... or even _measured_, dragging people to other worlds? Am I really expected to believe this nonsense? Can you even prove these wavicles _exist_?"

     "Well, yeah," Elric answered. He stood and clapped his hands while Mustang pulled his notes and pen off the desk with a smile. Blackburn had never seen Hakuro look more terrified.

     Marshal Wright waved for Elric to stop. "That won't be necessary," he said, and turned to Hakuro. "This isn't a trial, John. It's a debriefing. The Research department can take up the science later."

     General Hakuro sat back down, eyes still shooting venom at Elric. The little blond spitfire didn't seem intimidated.

     Lavochkin cleared his throat. "Well, even if we keep Elric in Central to coordinate with Research, I don't think we can ignore the site where he came through. The investigation detail should still be sent."

     "And we have no more important resource in this investigation than the Lt. Colonel," Fieseler added. "He should be assigned to Colonel Blackburn's office if not to the site itself."

     Edward Elric looked from the nodding and murmuring Generals to stare straight at Blackburn. "_What!?_" he demanded, standing and planting his hands on the desk with a loud metal thud. The blond narrowed his eyes, as if sizing him up and -– so Blackburn would have sworn -– coming to the visible conclusion of '_You're still not Colonel Mustang_.'

     That was so very, very true.

     "Why am I reporting to _him_?!"

     The council buzzed at his outburst, but before any of them could answer, Roy Mustang spoke. His tone rang out clearly to every corner, even though he didn't seem to speak loudly. "Need I remind you, Fullmetal, that despite the leniency given you in the past and despite your time in another world, you are still a military officer?"

     The alchemist sat back down, giving Mustang a less than satisfied look, but answering with only a moody, barely audible, "Yeah, I know."

     Blackburn wasn't entirely sure that when the Fullmetal Alchemist said, 'I know,' there was any implication that the Fullmetal Alchemist agreed. He was more inclined to think that Edward Elric was never going to listen to a single word Blackburn said as his 'commmander'. He hadn't particularly heard any rumors that, as an officer, the blond did anything other than he was asked –- except for that incident in Liore where the entire town was destroyed, along with most of a regiment, and the alchemist had disappeared with his brother (who was now a perfectly respectable officer in his own right). But that had been so counter to Elric's brilliant record that, when Blackburn had heard they'd gone on the run with no warning, his only thought had been, '_What, really?_' And by the time the revolution happened, it had seemed Edward Elric was back to being a hero, again with no explanations. How treasonous could he have been?

     Of course, the one dispatched to bring him in when he ran had been Roy Mustang.

     _That_ Roy Mustang.

     The one who still had a brilliant military career after being court-martialed for assassination and treason, and who demonstrated a firmer hold on the young man sitting next to him than Blackburn would have known how to begin creating. He'd seen the kicked chairs and dirty looks, so he could tell -- there was really no doubt -- that calling Elric 'insubordinate' was wholly insufficient to describe his attitude. Well, perhaps not _insubordinate_, per se, but he answered to _Mustang_, if he answered to anybody, and the generals should have been able to see that from the way Mustang was staring him down even if they _hadn't_ seen the Brigadier kicking the blond's chair to keep him in line.

     _But if he's going to be under my command_, Blackburn thought, _I'll have to try_.

     Elric let out a heavy sigh and pushed his bangs off his face. Mustang's victory, and Blackburn couldn't say he was surprised. More importantly, the stare-down had ended with _Blackburn's_ loss, as the Fullmetal Alchemist squinted at Blackburn's pants in a way that made him uncomfortably aware of his lack of an alchemist's watch.

     "However, if I may address one fact to my honored colleagues on the council," Mustang said. He paused just long enough for everyone (including Elric, thankfully) to look at him. "Edward Elric is currently assigned to Internal Security, and his services are still necessary."

     There was a shuffling of papers among the generals as they tried not to look frantic, searching for Elric's record. Major General Saulnier held up a single piece of paper and handed it to a nearby guard, who carried it to Mustang. "I was of the understanding that he was on the list of the missing and presumed dead," she said, giving Mustang a chance to look at the document. "He shouldn't have been assigned anywhere."

     "Why was I declared _dead_?" Elric asked, peeking around Mustang's shoulder.

     The Brigadier sat him in his chair with a soft push to the shoulder, ignoring the question. "When he left, Mr. Elric was my subordinate, on assignment to destroy the gate in the other world. Until he came back safely, he remained on that assignment and under my command. He was among the officers I requested be transferred to my new office in Internal Security, which request was granted in full by the generals on this council at that time." Mustang handed the guard a different sheet of paper out of his notes for the council to examine.

     Blackburn didn't have the transfer records to verify what Mustang was saying, but the Generals seemed to find the paperwork in order as they passed it around. Still, the Brigadier General _couldn't_ have. Who kept a man on his books who had no known way of coming home short of the Apocalypse?

     Apparently Mustang's faith had been justified, but even then --

     He paused to study Elric as the young man watched the Brigadier General speak. From their short acquaintance, he hadn't realized that the blond could be so _tranquil_, or seem so...

     Attached.

     He had a strange, fixed expression that made Blackburn forget all about wondering why Mustang would have assumed that the Fullmetal Alchemist would be back. With that kind of look in his eyes, he could believe that the man would have torn the universe to shreds to get to Mustang's side. Blackburn had known -- because everyone knew -- that the Brigadier inspired loyalty in his men. He wasn't sure what he would name the look on Elric's face; only that 'loyalty' was too modest a word. If _he_ wanted a shot in hell at earning the young alchemist's respect, he'd probably have to show Elric at least enough trust to believe, as Mustang had done, that he'd claw his way back across whatever impossible and incomprehensible lengths might present themselves -- not that the question would arise, what with the Brigadier having gone out on a limb like that to claim him.

     "He is an integral member of my staff, and I should like to keep him," Mustang said. "Moreover, while I will not contest that Colonel Blackburn should coordinate any investigation in the East, the knowledge that the Fullmetal Alchemist has gained during his mission is -- as Marshal Lavochkin indicated -- a matter of national security."

     When Mustang took his seat and glanced at his fellow officer, Elric's strange expression changed to a scowl. "So now I work for _you_?" he asked, sounding unimpressed. But also not blowing up in a rage.

     "Yes," Mustang replied, barely loud enough for Blackburn to hear. Elric kept his peace.

     General Fieseler was the last to examine the sheet of paper Mustang had offered, and he handed it to the guard behind him after giving it a long glance. "It appears the Brigadier has a valid claim." The General looked to Blackburn's table. "Lt. Colonel Elric could be an asset to you, Colonel. Do you wish to make a challenge?"

     _Challenge? Are you kidding? Let Mustang have him!_

     He stood, saluting, and told the council without hesitation, "No challenge, sir."

     "Very well," the Fuhrer replied. "Brigadier General Mustang, he's your man. Lt. Colonel Elric, thank you for your time and dedication. I believe the quartermaster has a uniform for you, which you can pick up before you leave today." He stood, and all the officers in attendance stood with him. "Dismissed!"

     Blackburn, along with Elric and Mustang, stood at attention, holding a salute until every member of the council had filed out of the door by the head table. When the door shut, he collapsed into his chair, breathing long and slow. His brain felt numb as he sorted the papers, still not quite processing the trouble he'd only barely escaped -- and only because Mustang had insisted on taking it himself. As far as he could tell, the Flame Alchemist had just saved him from an uncontrollable, pint-sized stick of dynamite with a very short fuse. He wasn't going to register a complaint, because now it was all over, and he could go back to his ordinary life.

     As soon as he retrieved his pen.

     He pushed back his chair, picking it up from where it has fallen when he heard Elric say, "Remind me why I have to work for _you_ again?" from off to the side. "I've got my brother -- I don't need my arm back. What if I wanted to go home and retire?"

     "Oh, does that mean I won't have to see you in the morning, Edward?" Mustang shot right back. He didn't make even the slightest sign of reminding the blond again that he was a 'military officer'.

     _And... 'Edward'? That's awfully familiar._

     But then, Mustang had been the alchemist's commander since he joined the military at _twelve_ (Blackburn sometimes didn't like to think about the kind of place this country had been up until very recently), and he couldn't deny that their relationship didn't seem normal. They could have been friends. He turned to look at the two of them, Elric standing on his toes with his face three inches from Mustang's and glaring in a way that certainly didn't _look_ like they were friends. "Oh, I'll be there, Colonel! Whatever you've got, I can take it." Blackburn tried to make as little noise as possible as he put his papers away. He didn't want to attract any attention from either of them.

     "Good. Nine AM sharp, then. Oh, and..." Mustang straightened one of the lapels on the brown duster the blond was wearing. "Don't call me _Colonel_."

     "I'll call you whatever I want, _Roy_."

     "Don't be late," the Brigadier replied, sliding a pen into his jacket pocket. Mustang picked a single folder up from the table and walked for the door, but before he turned the handle he looked over his shoulder as if he'd just remembered something that had slipped his mind. "One thing, Fullmetal."

     "Yes, _sir_?"

     "You've always been a plainclothes officer. I see no reason to change that. The uniform isn't necessary."

     The blond scoffed, leaning against table and turning to study the side wall.

     Meanwhile, Mustang waited at the door. "Are you coming, Fullmetal?"

     "I'm going to R&amp;D, _Roy_," Elric said, pushing in his chair -- possibly harder than necessary -- and joining the Brigadier at the exit.

     "Then we're both going to the third floor, aren't we?" Mustang opened the door and let the blond through, looking after Lt. Colonel Elric's shuffling, insubordinate footsteps. As soon as Mustang started through the door himself, he paused to look right at Blackburn.

     With a smile.

     "Sorry," he said, and left without another word.

     Blackburn watched the still door for a good ten seconds after it closed, blinking and quite unsure what he should think.

     '_Sorry?_' he wondered.

     Sorry for _what_?

 

 

~//~

 

 

     Edward had the big brown-wrapped package Al had gotten from the quartermaster (before the Colonel said he didn't need a uniform) balanced on his head as he walked back to his brother's place, since there wasn't a good way to get a grip on something that unwieldy. He'd been using one hand at a time to hold it in place, but now he pushed down on both sides so he could roll his neck and work at the knot at the top of his spine. It'd been one hell of a couple days, between shunting himself across parallel dimensions, hiking cross-country, and going to bat with the biggest jackass in two worlds against the entire Council of Generals. The chance to finally sleep in a bed he could call his own was sounding _really_ good.

     "They gave you a house?" he asked Alphonse.

     "Yeah," his brother replied. "Since I work mostly in Central, the administration said I didn't need to live in the dorms. Most alchemists have houses."

     They stopped in front of the residence, and Edward dropped the package off his head into his right arm to get a good look while Alphonse unlocked the door. Porch, two stories, lots of windows. Not as big as Winry's place was, or as their parents' place had been, or even as big as Sensei's place, but so what? It was subsidized housing in the middle of the city, and it was good enough. All they needed to do here was sleep.

     "Welcome home, Nii-san," his brother said from inside the door.

     Edward grinned back and stepped over the threshold. "It's good to be he--"

     "Mrrow!"

     He paused and peeked around Al, who had frozen in the doorway with his big smile and his eyebrow twitching.

     "Mrrow!" he heard again, this time closer.

     "Al," Edward said.

     "Yes, Nii-san?"

     "What was that?"

     "A kitty!" his brother declared. "I-I always _wanted_ a kitty, and they were outside with nowhere to go, and --"

     "They?"

     A tiny, furry head poked it's around Alphonse's leg, nudging his brother, then looking up plaintively. "Mrrow!"

     Alphonse scooped the little cat up and held her tight to his chest. "Th-this is Ella!" he said, half hiding his face behind the cat's neck as he stepped out of the doorway. "And that's Boots on the chair there," Alphonse continued, nodding to a largish cat who looked up with a measure of disdain before dropping his head back on his paws to nap. "And Hijinx is over there by the --"

     "Meow?" asked a fluffy white cat over by a standing lamp. He looked up at Edward with big eyes and turned his head curiously, padding across the floor to investigate the scene at the door. About halfway there, he ran into a yellow, bird-shaped toy and got distracted. The cat pounced immediately, biting at the toy in the most ineffective way Edward could imagine. There was no way his brother could have left something like that alone. Adorable and apparently helpless was a deadly combination.

     Edward walked over to meet the cat, dropping his uniform on the floor nearby. When he looked back towards the door, Alphonse was holding the little cat named 'Ella' tight to his chest. "It's been my house, Nii-san, so I have a place to keep them! And I feed them, and I change their litter, and they've all had their shots and been neutered and everything!"

     He'd wanted to see his brother so much over the past few years that all the feelings had piled up on one another into a big, dull numbness. Missing Alphonse, missing this world, missing... all kinds of things. That had been his every day for so long. Being back home was strange now, like the world didn't quite fit, but watching Alphonse defend the cats' right to stay made him feel more like this was home than he would have believed possible. That really was _just like_ his brother, and -- for the second time today -- Edward couldn't have kept the smile off his face if his life depended on it. But since that bastard Colonel didn't really count...

     Well, that was a lie. Roy had been ready to back him up the minute he stepped in the door. Had been waiting for him. It wasn't half a lifetime's dream like getting his brother back had been, but he couldn't deny that it _counted_. Not that he ever planned to tell the Colonel how much.

     Seeing him smile, Alphonse grinned as well, and looked hopeful. "They're cute," Edward answered, reaching out to scratch Hijinx behind the ears. Then he asked, "They've all been _neutered_?" casting a questioning glance at the dainty little cat his brother was holding.

     "That's right."

     "So... Ella's a boy?"

     Alphonse shrugged. "That's what the veterinarian said when we brought her in. I mean, _him_." The cat in question decided he'd had enough of being held then, and jumped down to the floor to groom. "But I'd already named him, you see," his brother finished.

     Hijinx rolled over and started attacking Edward's right wrist instead of the bird toy, light pressure barely noticeable through the nerve relays of his automail -- like the memory of being tickled. He picked the cat up, staring into his big, clueless eyes, and informed him, "You're gonna have to do better than that, boss," before setting the cat back down near his toy and standing to look for the kitchen. "Man, I'm starving."

     "There's plenty to eat," Alphonse replied, locking the front door and pointing towards one of the doors out of the parlor. "The kitchen is this way."

     "Thanks." He'd had a good meal last night for dinner at the inn where he'd stopped, but today he'd practically forgotten to eat, what with the heading to Central and seeing the Colonel and getting reviewed by those idiot Generals. He couldn't _believe_ they'd fallen for that 'wavicle' bullshit -– though now he wished he'd come up with a better name. Just his luck, that would end up in all the alchemical primers for the next thousand years, and he'd constantly have snot-nosed brats and their teachers asking him to explain it. The least he could have done was pick a _cool name_. Still, getting to watch the military chase his rabbit-hole for however long might make up for it, as long as they got him his book back. Mustang had let him hold on to all the pages he'd taken out (he'd threatened to hold them hostage, but hadn't done it in the end), so it'd be easy to put everything back together once Intelligence was done with it.

     "Say, Nii-san..." Al broke into his thinking, pulling some cans of vegetables out of a cupboard.

     Edward looked over, still rubbing his neck. That damn bed last night had been harder than a pile of rocks, but he'd been too tired from walking to think about transmuting it before he'd fallen asleep.

     "I was just... wondering..."

     "About what? Spit it out."

     Alphonse stepped over to the refrigerator, turning a bit red in the cheeks while looking at his feet. "Well, about the note the Brigadier General gave you," he said at last.

     Taking a seat on a stool by the counter, Edward propped his jaw on his hands and forced his face not to show anything. More than one of his research partners had asked about that damn note over the years. He'd gotten used to pretending it was nothing, but this was Al. His brother would have known it wasn't 'nothing' even if he hadn't been there when Edward had marched into the Colonel's office. That half-sheet of crumpled paper was complicated, though, for something with just over two dozen words written in faded ink. Couldn't Al have asked about magnetic forces operating in a tesseract? But his brother had picked the hard questions instead, and Al, at least, wasn't going to give up if he tried to dodge. "What about it?" he asked, turning away from the questioning stare to watch the big cat, Boots, stroll into the kitchen and over to his food bowl.

     He could still feel Alphonse's eyes on him while he watched the cat eat, making a long silence feel longer. At last, his brother answered, "It looked important."

     Edward shook his head with a bitter grin and jumped down from the stool. He couldn't sit still like this. "Roy was being a jackass, that's all," he said, sidestepping the question of whether or not it was 'important'. He always carried it around with him, sure, but why would that have to be anything but a reminder that he had somewhere to be? That was 'important' enough without the thing itself having some kind of hold on him. So what if he couldn't shake the memories of the stupid Colonel or the exhilaration quivering in the pit of his stomach when he thought about Mustang wanting him to come home? Those were, respectively, emotional and hormonal reactions on _his_ part exposing an embarrassingly wretched taste in men, nothing inherent in the note itself. _Objectively_, that piece of paper and the words written on it were just Roy engaging in his usual jackassery and everything else was irrelevant to the question. Edward lounged against the counter next to the stove, watching Alphonse pull some kind of meat out of the refrigerator. "Look, why don't I help out with dinner?" he asked, moving for a change of subject. "Where do you keep the pans?"

     "In the drawer under the stove." Alphonse pushed him the can of string beans along with a can opener. "What did he write? If I can ask."

     He pulled a saucepan out of the drawer, shutting it with his foot while he shot Alphonse a confused look. "If you can ask?"

     "Well, I didn't know if it might not be personal!" Al sputtered back, ears and cheeks burning bright red.

     "Personal?" Edward scoffed, shaking his head. He thunked the saucepan down on a burner, back to his brother so Alphonse couldn't read his face. "Why would you think it was _personal_? I think it said, 'Well, if I never see you again, I suppose you're not the man I thought you were.' Something like that."

     When he turned to pick up the can and can opener, Alphonse looked like he could see right through him. "Can I see it?" he asked.

     "What's there to see? I gave it back, didn't I?"

     "Nii-san," Al replied, asking with his eyes why Edward even bothered lying to him. "You picked it back up from the Brigadier General's desk."

     _Looks like I got caught_, he thought. _But as long as the Colonel doesn't think anything of it, I'm okay._

     "Did I?" he asked, feigning ignorance for the moment.

     Alphonse pointed at the right side of his jacket. "You put it in your pocket."

     Pushing The Wonderful Wizard of Oz aside to get at the crumpled, faded, yellowed piece of paper, Edward drew out the note and turned it over in his fingers. "Huh. So I did," he said, and handed it to Al. "Go ahead. There's no big mystery."

     Alphonse wiped off his hands before he took it, handling the paper like it was delicate or something. It wasn't delicate. Edward had crumpled it up at least a thousand times and pitched it at a trashcan as hard as he could, making wrinkles upon wrinkles that'd never come out no matter how long he kept it pressed between the pages of a book. He'd always missed the trash when he threw it, though. After a while, he'd stopped even trying and just kept it in his pocket or on his worktable. He didn't actually read it that often -- he knew what it said.

> _Fullmetal: _
> 
> _     I never thought 'Goodbye' would suit the Edward I knew. It's a word for old men with no reason to return, after all._
> 
> _\-- Roy Mustang_

     After the first time he'd read it, the words were burned into his mind so deeply that he couldn't have forgotten it. When had the bastard even had time to write it, let alone slip it into his pocket?! And even the shape of the letters had looked snarky, just like Mustang's voice sounded. Watching his brother read it, he could hear the sound in his head, mocking him, same as he had for three years. Before very long, his brother folded it back in half and handed it to Edward again. "So why did you keep it, then?"

     "No reason," he said, sticking it back in his pocket where it always stayed.

     _I wanted to see Al. I wanted to see Winry. That was enough without wanting to see that bastard, too._

     "Nii-san," Alphonse started again, looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute. "Nii-san, what do you think about the Brigadier General?"

     "What is this, all of a sudden?" He caught himself before he got too defensive and tried to laugh it off. “What do I _think_ of him? What do you mean, what do I think of him? He's an _asshole_!"

     "Ah, well..." His brother scratched his head again, suddenly very interested in looking at his own shoes. "What I mean is... You see, I've been thinking about everything that's happened today, while I was waiting for you and all, and..." His brother paused to take a deep breath, then looked him straight in the eye. "Nii-san. I know you two fight a lot, but you've got to see that Brigadier General Mustang cares about you. And you care about him, too. Don't you?"

     Edward didn't answer. It was one thing for Einstein to ask, _'Is this 'Roy' your lover?'_ out of the blue, with no good reason. (Other geniuses were annoying as hell, it turned out.) Hearing _Alphonse_ say things like that was another matter entirely. He couldn't write off his brother as someone who didn't know him that well, or as someone who didn't know the Colonel. When it was Alphonse asking, claiming it wasn't true came a little harder.

     More than that, the Colonel had never been his 'lover' and never would be. Einstein had just been _wrong_. Al wasn't. Roy had made it clear enough enough that he cared what happened to him and his brother after the mess at Liore, and it hadn't been long after that Edward had realized he didn't _just_ think Roy was a jackass. But 'care' could mean a lot of things. It was a complicated word, and he'd long since decided he wasn't going there with _Roy Mustang_ of all people.

     His brother wasn't going to settle for silence, though. "I just can't think of any other reason why you'd come to Central before going to Resembool," Alphonse prompted. "If you like him, why pretend you don't?"

     He looked over his shoulder at the stove, then threw on his '_everything's okay_' grin and walked over to slap Al on the shoulder. "What're you on about, huh? I don't _like_ him even a little. I can't stand that bastard."

     "Right," Alphonse said, pausing to study Edward's face before he decided not to argue.

     What kind of question was that, anyway? Did he like the Colonel, did he not like the Colonel... Whether he cared or not, Roy was a fucking bastard, playing with his head and always knowing what buttons to push. Wanting to see him wasn't as simple as liking him -- not that he did, not really. Not for a minute. It was complicated, and he wasn't halfway close to ready to start telling Al about it, and it wasn't important _anyway_. Now that he was back and was going to be around Mustang's ugly mug every day and hearing his stupid voice all the time, he'd remember exactly how much he hated them. His ridiculous sentimentality would be gone in no time.

     Because he didn't _like_ the Colonel, no matter how much he'd missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - **"Home Again"** is the title of Chapter 24 of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, by L. Frank Baum. The next chapter (please look for it in about a month) will be entitled "How the Leopard Got His Spots". The rest of the books will not physically appear in the story, but virtual cookies still go to people who can guess the source text.
> 
> 2 - **More OCs?!**
> 
> Well, the bad guys from the anime ended up mostly dead, and there was a governmental upheaval. New people seemed appropriate for the council. I actually named and assigned personalities to all eleven generals, but several of them weren't necessary in the end. Maybe three of them (maximum) will be relevant to the continuing plot, but I can't say more than that without giving spoilers.
> 
> The generals named in this chapter were:
> 
> Marshal Curtiss Wright -- named for a fighter used by China, the Dutch East Indies, and Japan.  
> Lt. General Mistan B. Bloch (a.k.a The Rubicon Alchemist) -- named for a French bomber.  
> Maj. General Morane Saulnier -- named for a French fighter  
> Marshal Lern Lavochkin -- named for a series of Soviet fighters  
> Lt. General Storch F. Fieseler -- named for a German liaison aircraft
> 
> General Hakuro is, of course, the same Hakuro from the series.
> 
> The new Fuhrer, Oliver H.P. Halifax, is named for a British heavy bomber.
> 
> 3 - **Wavicles and Probability Density and Aether, oh my!**
> 
> Oh, my senior year of college. The term 'wavicle' was used in class a few times, for the very reasons Edward related, but that doesn't make it any more scientific, and the way in which he's applying it here is nonsense. In fact, I think the only thing in there that wasn't complete nonsense was Heisenberg's [Uncertainty Principle](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uncertainty_principle), though Edward's statement of it reflects an older understanding and not the more rigorous modern one. Also, [probability density](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Probability_amplitude) as it actually works wasn't well theorized until 1954, which puts it outside of Edward's timeline, but I don't feel too bad for fudging it. The presence of [the aether](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luminiferous_aether) in all of that is, finally, a nod to much, much older attempts to explain how something (namely, light) can behave as both a wave and a particle.
> 
> I believe this represents the final appearance of anything related to quantum physics in this story, though I can't make any promises.


	3. How the Leopard Got His Spots

     Roy reached for another rubber band and sighted it over his finger and thumb toward the Drachman border on the map on his far wall. Discerning the probable location of the raiders' base of operations in the North was no simple task. The only conclusion he could reach was that they _had_ no local base, as scattered as the approach patterns were. The soldiers stationed at Briggs Fortress, who had taken the incursion very personally, confirmed that. Although they were searching the mountains and surrounding lowlands with a tenacity that his sources assured him could not be adequately expressed in words, they hadn't been able to provide any hint as to how to take the raiders out.

     The Drachmans had disguised their operations as simple raids for food and water, but these were military strikes. The effects of the attacks had been too debilitating to be caused by looting. Transportation and communication systematically destroyed, power plants ruined, attempts to rebuild foiled -- not to mention the unexplained water shortages. Amestrian military presence had been increased, especially near the border, but that hadn't helped much. The populace in the North had been riled to the brink of revolt in less than three months, and he knew better than to think the raiders were successful because Major General Armstrong's men were incompetent. They were anything but.

     With a snap, he let his rubber missile fly off his finger and silently rooted for this one to hit, but it landed with a couple dozen others in a scattered pile on the floor instead.

     One more time today, he'd come up short.

     Luckily, one of the best and most intuitive visual thinkers he'd ever had the pleasure of usurping had rejoined his team yesterday. Roy had felt a particular hum in the air this morning when he thought about it, like a premonition that he just needed to throw the problem at Edward and they'd find the break they needed; so he'd asked Lt. Breda to take down the map of attacks that they'd assembled over the past few weeks. Edward had his own methods for doing things. Better not to get in the way.

     _Edward_, he thought, and that smile that had been haunting him since yesterday snuck back into place while he pushed the marking pins for the map into a pile on his desk.

     Edward Elric.

     He must have imagined ten thousand times how that homecoming would happen, and though his fantasies had generally included more explosions, earthquakes, and destruction of property than did the eventual truth, Edward was always Edward. He remained singular and indestructible.

     _Thank goodness for that._

     The other alchemist's insistence on keeping his note had been a strange surprise, of course. He'd fully expected his bit of paper to die honorably, shredded to dust in a fit of Fullmetal's anger. But there it had been, completely intact; and there it had gone, back into Edward's coat pocket if his ears hadn't deceived him. Well, in all fairness, he wasn't certain what he'd have done with it had Edward left it yesterday. If Fullmetal wanted to hold onto it still, Roy could be sure his embarrassing keepsake was in good hands.

     As he looked down to push the marking pins into their box, he heard the door open and bang against the wall in a very particular way that no one in five years had been able to duplicate.

     "-- never thought I'd see the day! Nah, Fuery?" Havoc was saying in the outer office.

     "Well, it's good to have you back, Edward-kun."

     "Oh, but that's _Lieutenant Colonel_ Edward now, isn't it?"

     His long lost protege barked, "_Who the hell asked you?!_" followed by a percussive shudder in the wall when he slammed the door closed.

     Nine AM. Right on time.

     "So you decided to grace us with your presence, Fullmetal?" He kept his attention locked on the paperwork on his desk until he could be sure he'd gotten that smile under control.

     "Well, it's not like I can trust you to run the country on your own, _Roy_."

     He could tell the difference between the strides and habitual sounds of every member of his staff -- Hawkeye's almost silent, smooth glide, Havoc's easy saunter, Falman's crisp march. The slightly uneven rhythm of Edward's footsteps was an oddly sweet sound after his office had been missing it for so long. The refrain ended with an equally nostalgic '_flump_' as Fullmetal dropped into the chair in front of his desk and asked, "So, what've you got?"

     Roy dropped the box of flags on top of the reports on the border raids. "Well, I hope you remember your local geography--"

     When he looked up, his voice left him. It was certainly Edward slumped in the chair, with a bored expression on his face and one cheek resting firmly on a fist. Edward's choice of attire, however... that was the Amestrian military uniform. The Lieutenant Colonel's rank insignia on the shoulders meant, of course, that it was properly Edward's. Still, it seemed unlikely that the Fullmetal Alchemist had developed between yesterday and today the kind of military attitude that led to wearing duty blues out of some sense that he ought to, with or without Roy's permission to wear civilian dress instead.

     Not that he was wearing it in a manner one could call 'regulation'. In fact, leaving the jacket half-open while walking the hallways was likely to get him court-martialed if one of the other generals caught him. There were some places and situations where the brass would overlook it, but a workday in Central Headquarters wasn't one of them.

     The young man raised an eyebrow at Roy's long pause. "Because...?" he prompted.

     Mustang coughed into his hand. "Edward. I believe I mentioned yesterday that you are a plainclothes officer. The uniform isn't necessary."

     "These're _clothes_, aren't they?" the blond growled. "Now, what's the geography you need me to know?"

     Well, that'd been unexpectedly defensive. Should he drop it? Tell Edward to button his jacket? No, he'd probably only get a warning if the brass caught him today, not a full court-martial. And if he was wearing the uniform because 'they were clothes', then it wasn't likely to be a problem in the future. The border raiders, on the other hand, were already a problem. He pushed the pile of incident reports toward Edward. "The North, around the Briggs Mountain Range. You'll be studying this series of attacks and submitting a written report on your findings to me by close of business today. You can use the map on the wall."

     "Right," Edward answered. He picked up the pile and pulled a note tag off of the top report. After he twirled it around in his fingers and took a glance at the empty map, the blond shot a dirty look across the desk. "_Roy?_"

     "Yes, Edward?"

     "Are these the same things that were on the map yesterday?"

     "Well spotted, Fullmetal." He took his next piece of business from his inbox while his 'subordinate' threw the stack of reports back on the desk with a snarl. "Never let it be said that your perception has become at all dull."

     "Is there a reason why you took the map _down_ in the first place?"

     "Of course. I want it to be put up _by you_. Is that so difficult?" The suspicious glare Edward shot him from across the desk was nothing unusual. It was the way he pulled at his collar that Roy wondered at. It didn't look too tight. And yet, Edward swallowed hard and unbuttoned another button, letting the jacket fall all the way open with a stiff shrug while he reached for the papers. Without thinking, Roy blocked Edward from taking the pile.

     "What _now_?!" A hint of fire crept into the other alchemist's face as he jumped up and yelled, "Do you not want me to put your piece-of-shit makework map back on the wall?"

     "After you change your clothes."

     "_What?!_"

     "That uniform doesn't suit you."

     "Doesn't _suit_ me?!" One of Fullmetal's eyebrows started to twitch, and the blond ripped the blue jacket off his shoulders to shake it over Roy's desk. "Well, I'm sorry if I don't match your decor! Except, oh wait... _I do_." He slapped the jacket down on the back of the chair where he'd been sitting. "Everyone in this damn place is wearing one! What's the big deal? It's just pants, a shirt, a jacket... okay, the skirt's kind of stupid. I might as well take that off," he said. One clap, and he tore away the flap hanging from the waistband on his pants and slapped it down on top of the jacket. It took all the composure Roy had not to laugh at the sight. "But they're _clothes_," the blond finished. "_I'm wearing them_. Why do you care?"

     Roy twirled his pen while he tried to think of a reason other than Edward's own obvious discomfort. "Blue isn't your color," he answered. Edward would find that difficult to argue with, at least.

     "Say what?"

     The tone of confusion was all he could have asked and more. "You're dismissed until you find a change of clothing, Fullmetal."

     Instead of leaving, however, Edward sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Sorry, but no can do. You're gonna have to deal."

     "I beg your pardon. Certainly you must be capable of changing your clothes. You did so between yesterday and today."

     "My only change of clothes is _in the wash_. I've been wearing it for three freaking days straight, and I'm not going to keep transmuting it clean when I've got something else to wear." Roy's eye went wide, and Edward cocked his eyebrow at him again. "What? Did you think I brought _luggage_?"

     "Last time I checked, we didn't have a shortage of tailors in Central."

     The way Edward's nose twitched when he was annoyed still hadn't ceased to amuse. "Two days hiking across the East, bartering for food, then dealing with the freaking generals, and when I get off, you expect me to go clothes shopping?! I don't even have any money!"

     "Your paychecks have been going to the bank for five years, Fullmetal." Roy rested his chin on one hand. This was more fun than he'd remembered. "You have money."

     "Yeah, that's great," the blond spat back. "When the banks are _open_. And besides, what bank is going to take an ID card from another dimension? I've been on Earth, remember? No papers."

     He did have a point there. He hadn't received his papers yet, as Roy had only issued the order to have them printed late yesterday and they hadn't been ready until this morning. The envelope had to be in here somewhere. Fuery had left it in his inbox, hadn't he? Roy found the packet handed it to Edward, who looked it over suspiciously. "Your identification papers. Go buy yourself some clothes. We wouldn't want you to have to go all week without a proper change of clothing, now would we?"

     "Tsch." The blond peeked inside the envelope with a sigh. "Fine. I'll go find something that's _less blue_ so it doesn't hurt your eyes to look at me. But just so we're clear," he said, pointing a finger at Roy, "This is weird, and you're a freak."

     "So noted."

     Edward stood, then tucked the paperwork and the remnants of what had once been his uniform under one arm. Roy had to smile again, watching him leave. Edward never _walked_ anywhere. He always ran, sauntered, or looked like he was being force-marched in front of a firing squad. Of course, if he were ever actually taken in front of a firing squad, he'd probably be sauntering.

     When he threw open the door, Havoc and Fuery had to jump back to let him pass. They couldn't pretend they hadn't been listening. "Leaving so soon?" Havoc asked.

     "Take it up with Colonel Jackass." Edward stopped walking to yell over his shoulder. "He says there's nothing going on in Security that's more important than my coat not _matching my eyes_!"

     "For the moment, there's not," Roy answered. "But don't dawdle. I still expect that report on the border raids on my desk by five PM."

     "Can't I just tell you what I figure out?" he asked. Roy shot him a look to indicate, _No, you may not_. Edward understood perfectly, if Mustang could judge from his scowl and mutter of, "Asshole," before he walked the rest of the way out of the office.

     It was certainly pleasant to watch Edward walk away in a huff when he'd be sure to return in a matter of hours -- far more so than it was to watch him walk away and never know when he might come home. Besides which, Roy knew he'd come back wearing pants he'd picked out himself rather than the baggy-legged trousers that the military issued to all of its officers. Forcing people with nice-looking legs to wear those things would be a crime as soon as he had any say in the matter, and Edward had always had _very_ nice legs.

     If Roy's mental processes had had tires, he would have heard them squealing on the theoretical pavement as he slammed on the brakes.

     ... 'Always'? Certainly he was just thinking Edward had been easy on the eyes _yesterday_. He couldn't really have meant '_always_'.

     A quick flash through his memories revealed that, yes, he probably did mean 'always'. Clear images from the invasion three years ago that he couldn't have formed without _looking_, and from the last time he saw Edward before...

     He stopped flipping through the years before he got any further back. Best not to wonder when he'd developed that particular opinion, really. The answer probably wasn't legal.

     Roy bit his lip and refocused on his paperwork.

     _Note to self: never mention this to anyone._

_   
_

~//~

 

     "-- and you'll be expected to give your presentation on the measures we can take to prevent increased smuggling of contraband materials," Hawkeye concluded, handing the agenda for the council meeting over to Roy.

     He looked it over and sighed, but didn't respond.

     Before she could glance at the next item that would need the Brigadier's attention, the door blew open like a shot and Edward stomped in, scowled at Roy, then took a pile of papers off the corner of the desk. Oddly enough, he still had a tag dangling from the cuff of his shirt. When he turned and walked toward the map on the wall, she could see that he had another tag hanging from the back of the red vest he was wearing.

     "Good to have you back, Fullmetal," Roy called out.

     "I'm not changing again," Edward answered without turning around.

     Hawkeye looked back to the man who was theoretically in charge of this office and who needed to hear the rest of his day's schedule only to find Roy leaning on his hand with a tiny grin turning up the corners of his mouth.

     As he ignored his paperwork in favor of watching Edward.

     "No, you're fine," he said. Hawkeye sighed and wondered if 'watching Edward' was something he planned to get over quickly. A brief examination of his expression told her, 'No', of course. Sometimes, Roy Mustang brought new levels to the word 'incorrigible'.

     "_Thanks_," the blond replied, and stabbed a marking pin into the wall with a force she could hear clearly, even above the noise coming from the outer office. A certain Brigadier didn't seem dissuaded from admiring his subordinate by the fact that anyone could tell the young man would rather be stabbing pins into his commanding officer than into the map.

     After rustling through the papers he'd taken, Edward asked, "Did you organize these by attack target?"

     Roy's gaze turned sharp for an instant as he thought about what the other man had said. "They're in order by date."

     Hawkeye rapped on the desk twice to get Roy's attention and focus it on his own work again. Edward could handle Edward's job, and he didn't need his commander interfering or gawking. At least the Brigadier had the sense to turn back to his paperwork as soon as he saw Hawkeye raise her eyebrow at him. Over the years, he'd demonstrated a surprising capacity to concentrate on his duties even when he seemed distracted by a pretty girl.

     Or, apparently, boy.

     Hawkeye was well acquainted with the manner in which Roy turned to look every so often from the paper in his hand over in the direction of his newly-returned fellow alchemist. That was the look he used when examining a target that he'd decided to pursue. One _might_ have expected him to know better than to pick that particular target, though. Probably the last thing Edward would want would be for his commanding officer to take an unexpected liking to him. Not to mention that it was _Edward Elric_. She looked over her shoulder, just to check that the alchemist hadn't changed more drastically than she remembered from yesterday. Edward placed another flag in the map, examined the placement of all the flags so far, then tore them all out while grumbling. He seemed like the same Edward. After watching him flip through the papers and deal them out in several rows on the table by the wall, she turned back to Roy.

     Who was once again ignoring the meeting agenda entirely, locked in contemplation of the blond in the corner.

     Unbelievable.

     There was no question that Edward had grown up into an attractive sort of young man, and that the leather pants he'd found fit him extremely well, but there were limits, even for certain Brigadier Generals.

     Still, she took care to speak quietly enough that the young man himself wouldn't be bothered. "_Brigadier General Mustang_, sir. Have you no shame?"

     "I have no idea what you're talking about," he answered just as quietly. And he may have decided to turn his eyes back to his meeting agenda, but he hadn't bothered to wipe the cat-in-the-cream grin off his face. Who did he think he was fooling?

     "I heard from Captain Havoc that you and Edward-kun had your first fight just after he came in this morning."

     "Oh, well, that couldn't have come as a surprise." He looked up from the few notes he'd taken to smile at her. Well, at least it was an improvement over his earlier lack of energy. Hawkeye hated to admit it most days, but his concentration did usually _improve_ when he had a fresh source of entertainment around. "Tell me, who won the betting pool on how long we'd last?"

     She tucked the rest of the day's schedule under her arm. "I believe it was a four-way tie, sir. _However_, Capt. Havoc also mentioned _why_ you two were fighting."

     "What about it, Captain?"

     _Oh, Roy_. She rolled her eyes as he glanced up yet again to admire Edward in the corner. "Please tell me you didn't order Edward-kun to change out of his uniform because you wanted _a better view_."

     Pointing one finger towards her, Roy went back to composing the presentation for this afternoon (which he really should have written last week). "First," he said at full volume, then paused to double-underline something in his notes, "I didn't give him an order. I made a _suggestion_." After he counted off a second finger, he lowered his voice again. "And second, my motivations were unimpeachable. Any improvement to the view is a happy side effect."

     The way his attention turned toward the happy side effect of his suggestion and lingered before he returned to his notes didn't particularly help his case.

     "But this is Edward-kun," she sighed. "_Must_ you?" Hawkeye didn't see any danger _per se_ in allowing Roy to make a fool of himself, since she rated it more likely to end with the Brigadier getting punched in the face than with with any hard feelings. The volume with which Edward would probably object, however, seemed like good enough reason to avoid a dalliance of the week with the elder Elric brother.

     Roy kept writing intently, but his voice sounded oddly tense when he replied. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with finding him attractive. I assure you, I didn't have a single impure thought about him until two and a half hours ago."

     Hawkeye narrowed her eyes and stared at him in silence. The edges of his ears turned faint red as she watched, which meant he was unusually embarrassed about something. Very unusually embarrassed. And that... Well, that really had been a very specific thing for him to say in such a general context.

     "Sir..."

     He set down his pen and looked up slowly, ears turning ever more red.

     "_Roy Mustang_. Is there some reason why I should wonder when you started 'having impure thoughts' about Edward-kun?"

     The Brigadier General in charge of national security cleared his throat quite uncomfortably and turned his gaze toward the paperwork on his desk. "Ah, no. No reason whatsoever," he muttered. "Well, I really ought to get this presentation ready." The way he rubbed at his eyebrow while he focused was a dead giveaway that he was hiding something.

     _Oh, please don't let him have meant what that sounded like._

     Before she could think of anything to say, the shuffle of papers and the occasional footsteps from the other side of the room gave way to an echoing stride aimed straight for Roy's desk. "Coming through," Edward said. "Don't mind me."

     Hawkeye kept her eyes on Roy while the blond circled the desk and opened a drawer. As soon as the younger man rounded the corner, a certain Brigadier's attention was fixed to his paperwork and his pen was diligently writing line after line of notes. He didn't even stop to ask Edward why he'd approached. The alchemist poked through the drawer and dropped one hand on the back of Roy's chair, prompting the Brigadier to sit forward suddenly. By now, his ears were just about crimson, which was the first time she'd seen them turn quite that shade. Finally, Edward pulled a package of colored markers out of the drawer and pushed it closed with his hip. Roy very carefully didn't see this, having put his hand up at the side of his face and leaned his chin sharply in the other direction.

     Once the blonde turned to walk back around the desk again, Roy was willing to sneak a glance. A short one. He zipped right back to his paperwork when Edward stopped and reached into his pocket. "Oh, here," he said. She wasn't sure what it was at first, but saw quite clearly when the Fullmetal Alchemist walked back to drop the handful dead-center on what the Brigadier was writing. And Roy Mustang very nearly flinched at the sight of at least a score of rubber bands suddenly falling on top of his hand. "I found those."

     His famous composure returned quickly. Even the blush in his ears receded a bit as he picked up one of the rubber bands and dropped it in the dish where he usually kept them. "Ah, thank you, Fullmetal," he told Edward with a nod. "I was wondering where those had gone."

     "_Sure_."

     Edward stalked off again with his markers, and Hawkeye watched Roy move the rubber bands one at a time to the dish without paying the least bit of attention to what he was doing. All of his focus stayed on the blond heading back over to the far wall. He'd clearly gotten over his attack of embarrassment, Hawkeye thought with a roll of her eyes. At least she could be fairly sure after _that_ display that her friend and commander had at least a _little_ shame. Also that he probably wasn't lying about having developed this particular interest earlier today. She'd have noticed something if he'd been acting like this yesterday (let alone _before_).

     And that was really all she needed or wanted to know on the topic of Roy Mustang's 'impure thoughts'.

     "So," she said, and paused to collect the Brigadier General's attention.

     He looked back and forth between her and the rubber band dangling from his finger. "I can explain."

     With a sigh, she shook her head and asked, "Have you given any thought to where Edward-kun's desk will be? There's a space he can take next to 2nd Lt. Fuery, though we'll have to move Capt. Havoc's diorama of the East City stickball pitch." Hawkeye couldn't say she'd be sad to see the coffee-cup masterpiece banished from their workspace.

     "Oh, let him keep it." Roy shuffled away the last few rubber bands. "I don't really see Fullmetal sitting at a desk."

     So much for taking out the garbage.

     "Then you have a plan, sir?"

     "Well, you know." He shrugged and rubbed his eyebrow again while he stalled. "I would imagine he'll be spending a lot of time in the field, like he used to."

     "And while he's in the office?"

     A wide grin broke across Roy's face. He turned towards the far wall and gestured out wide with his hands. "I've got all this room over here that we only use for planning sessions occasionally. There's a table he can have, and chairs, with plenty of bookshelves. And I think he'd fit quite well in the space by the window, don't you?"

     Hawkeye pulled her list of the day's duties back out and crossed off '_Pick Edward-kun's desk_' and '_Make Capt. Havoc move his art project_', since those were no longer necessary. When a certain Brigadier had his mind made up as clearly as it was on this point, arguing with him was pointless. Even she couldn't say 'no' to Roy when he was excited enough to smile that way about moving Edward in. If they didn't get along, she'd always have the option of offering the desk next to Fuery later. "I think, Brigadier, that when you tell your plan to Edward-kun, you should try to sound less like he's a picture you mean to hang. Now, have you considered what you'll do when that space is needed for a meeting with other officers or any foreign dignitaries?"

     No sense in waiting to address any issues that might be expected to arise.

     "I'm certain I can issue him the necessary security clearances," Roy answered.

     "You mean to have Edward-kun _attending_ meetings with higher-ranked officers and visiting heads of state?"

     "I don't see why not." He looked like he might be thinking of aiming his last rubber band at the back of Havoc's head. Hawkeye pulled it out of Roy's hand and dropped it in the storage dish, after which Roy could see that she was waiting quite patiently for him to explain _why_ he felt Edward would be unlikely to cause an international incident. He went on with neither remorse nor shame. "He has good insights, and he may not like politics but he knows enough about how the game works. He can keep a civil tongue when it suits him, and when it doesn't suit him..." The Brigadier shrugged. "Any mess he can't get himself out of, it's always been worth my efforts to save him."

     At least that sounded like he'd considered the situation before coming to a conclusion, and it wasn't as if Hawkeye had doubts about the alchemist's credentials. Good enough on that point. Not on some others. "There is, however, the matter of how much time you've spent _ogling_ Edward-kun in the past while. Should I be concerned about your ability to concentrate on paperwork while he's in the room?"

     "No need. I'm perfectly capable of balancing my recreational ogling and the expeditious accomplishment of my duties." As if he were trying to prove his point, Roy wrote two final lines on his notes for the presentation he was to give this afternoon. And didn't he look pleased with himself, too.

     "Good," Hawkeye replied. "Because if I ever find myself under the impression that you'd be more efficient when fully blind, I won't hesitate to shoot out your other eye."

     "Understood, Captain."

     Over in the corner, Edward broke his relative silence with something that sounded quite a bit like, "Oh, _shit_." Both she and Roy turned to look at him. The blond had finished with his shuffling and rearranging, and stood perfectly still as he squinted at the map he'd covered with brightly colored notecards. The twist in his frown said he was deep in thought about something that wasn't particularly pleasant. "Colonel," he yelled, his eyes still fixed on the map. "I think you've got a problem."

     "I'm sorry, Fullmetal, did you say something?"

     With a loud sigh, he amended, "I think you've got a problem, _Roy,_" sounding even more sarcastic than usual.

     "I should say we do. Border raiders are inciting rebellion in the North. Make sure to include a solution in your report when you've analyzed the situation properly."

     Hawkeye could have sworn that the young man's hair stood up even more on end when he arched his back and growled. He muttered something she couldn't make out, though she could imagine it was uncomplimentary and directed at a certain Brigadier General, then pulled a piece of paper to an open spot on the table. Edward yanked the lid off of one of the markers and scrawled something quickly, with extra loud squeaks as he wrote to make it perfectly obvious how annoyed he was, then marched across the office to Roy's desk. Any hint of a smile dropped off Roy's face as soon as Edward shoved the piece of paper into his commander's line of sight.

     "_Problem_," the blond said, slightly louder than before, emphasizing each syllable.

     Hawkeye bent behind Roy's head to see what he'd written. The purple streaks of ink read, "_MY REPORT: Their orders are coming from Central_."

     Which would certainly constitute, as he had said, 'a problem'.

     Roy took the paper and scanned it closely. "If you want a solution," the blond went on, "I say we find 'em and stop 'em. How's _that_?"

     "Show me," Roy answered. His tone was all business, and Hawkeye nearly had to run to keep up with him as he followed Edward to the map.

     The cities marked on the board were no different than they were yesterday or the day before, but Edward had added notes in various colors about what resources had been attacked by the raiders. "It's the research facility here," he said. The tag he pointed to had the word '_TRINGHAMS_' written out in blue. "At first, I thought they got attacked because they were doing water reclamations, but that's not it. They're too soon. See, the Tringham's place was during the first wave, when the raiders went after telegraph depots, radio towers, and phone lines." He pointed out the three earliest attacks, with the names of lines that'd been destroyed listed in green. "Then they started concentrating attacks on transportation centers," Edward went on. He indicated two of the rail stations he'd marked in red, then moved onto the sites he'd marked in orange. "Third wave was power generators. They didn't start hitting water reclamations until after that. Al says most of those project sites didn't even exist back when the Tringhams got hit. They were just starting to set them up."

     "Right." Roy nodded and squinted at the board. She remembered that the Brigadier had noticed the general pattern as soon as they'd been able to get any clear information from the area. That was how he'd known they had a guerrilla war on their hands, not an ordinary band of thieves. "So the research facility was taken out for another reason?"

     "Yeah. _Communications_." Edward reached up with his green marker and added '_TG Line to Al_' on the notecard. Hawkeye's breath stuck in her throat. She knew Alphonse had asked for Roy's help getting data from the Tringhams when all the communications lines had gone down, but the concern over water supplies had already been bad enough that no one had questioned the attack on the research facility. When Edward had capped the marker again, he frowned in Roy's direction. "Al said the Tringham brothers built their own telegraph system connecting to Central Headquarters to send in reports. Their work's classified, so it didn't go through any of the switching stations on the way. It was direct. Most of the hits the raiders made were things you could target based on local knowledge, but there's no way they knew about that line unless they had someone _here_."

     "Someone high up," Roy said softly. "These attacks are targeted to destabilize the government's control. That's been clear from the beginning. I'd say you're right about that telegraph line, too, and I know a coup d'etat when I see it."

     "So, remind me again why you're still not the Fuhrer?"

     "Because I want to live in a democracy. So. We're going to need information on anyone close enough to power to grab for it."

     Edward grinned from ear to ear. "You mean you want me to bug the offices of all the Generals on the council?"

     "No, Fullmetal, I don't," Roy said with a sigh. "Speaking of which, we're not discussing any more of that here. Let's talk about the North. Now, messages are getting to the raiders somehow. All known communications lines are down, and we haven't picked up any open radio signals. That means couriers. Any idea where they might be coming in?"

     "Well, their home base, probably. Where else would they go?" Edward tapped one of the cities on the map with his left hand: Hyrcania, a mid-sized rural town southwest of North City. If Edward were right about that, Hawkeye thought, a base of operations _south_ of the attacks would support the idea that someone from inside was organizing the 'invasion'. It would also explain why the soldiers at Briggs had come up empty-handed. The raiders might not be crossing the border at all. There was a chance they weren't even from Drachma, though if she knew Roy, he wouldn't risk making an assumption like that yet.

     The blond alchemist had his full attention -- no surprise, if Edward had found the base Roy had been hunting for these past few weeks. "You're sure that's where they are?"

     "Duh. If you track back the patterns of roads that're cut off by general attacks, Hyrcania's the only place that's never been fully surrounded. There's always been a way in and and a way out somewhere."

     He'd gotten _that_ from what data they'd been able to scrape together from communiques with the front lines and the stories from civilians who'd managed to flee? In less than an hour? Over the past few _weeks_, their whole department had been analyzing those reports. They'd thought they had a break when they worked out how many individual units were operating in the area. Any patterns might have shown where the next strikes would be, where they were coming from, where they were going -- but there had been none. The attacks were chaotic. Had Edward managed to hold all that in his head and look through every movement for something that small? He hadn't even marked a single one of the minor scuffles on the map -- just major assaults on resources. How...?

     But did it matter how? She'd seen Edward's analyses in action before, and they hadn't found any better ideas yet. If he was advising Roy to check Hyrcania, she wouldn't argue.

     The alchemist knitted up his brow and scrached his nose. "Plus, if they've got couriers coming from Central, that's perfect. See, basic shifts in roadblock patterns break down into a twelve-day cycle. I make about four days traveling the hard way from Central to Hyrcania, eight round trip. Two days on each end would do to hand over orders, get local intelligence, and resupply. Twelve days total. So, yeah, I'm pretty sure that's where they're gonna be." The blond alchemist turned his head up to Roy and scowled. "Why're you looking at me like that?"

     For a moment, Roy looked like he'd just received the most perfect birthday present he could imagine. Once he managed to rediscover his restraint, he turned back to the map and rapped his fist on the city of Hyrcania twice.

     Then he started patting Edward on the head, which only caused the blond to intensify his scowl.

     "No reason," Roy said, and dropped his hand off Edward's head to pull on his ponytail. "Good dog."

     "I hate you."

     "Wonderful. Now, Hyrcania has nothing for communications but a local telephone network. If we can get some kind of secure transmissions in there, we'll have an edge. Two-way radios would be the easiest to move, but they'll be short range."

     Edward let out a long sigh. "Get me the best equipment you can find, and I'll see what I can do to boost the signal. Getting through to Central directly is probably out of the question, but..." He pointed to the pin for the Tringham's research facility again. "If we can get that line to Al repaired, I can turn the whole valley into the biggest damn radio receiver you've ever seen. A, B, C," he said, and moved his finger from Hyrcania to the research facility to Central. "...and we're set."

     The Brigadier didn't make a single move to silence Edward, even though he always operated under the assumption that the office had been bugged. If they were dealing with an internal threat tied to this 'invasion', his assumption was more than likely correct. He must have decided to use Edward's plan as a cover operation. If so, he would (she hoped) let her know the real goal before putting anything into action. In the meantime, Hawkeye added '_Find radios_' onto the day's schedule. They would need them in any case.

     "Make sure Alphonse-kun knows that _no-one_ is allowed to know when those transmissions start coming in." When Roy hatched a plot, he usually did so quickly. Hawkeye kept her eyes and ears locked on him, ready for the word on what to do. For the moment, he leaned back on the table and fixed one hard eye on Edward. "As far as anyone outside this office is concerned, that line remains down."

     "Al's not an idiot, you know."

     "Tell him anyway." Roy studied the map in silence for a few moments longer. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and serious. Most people would have said he sounded calm. Hawkeye knew better. She had rarely ever heard him sound as worried as that. "Fullmetal. Connecting the radio system that way means we have to send you out there as soon as we can make preparations. No one else can manage it. And..."

     The other alchemist leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. "Yeah. And what?"

     "And it means I can't let you take Alphonse-kun."

     Edward turned his head away without saying a word.

     "He can't go north, you're not to discuss this with him in this building, and if you want to discuss it at home, I recommend you search thoroughly for wiretaps and other surveillance equipment before you do. If we involve him in this, our enemies will be able to see through the objective. Someone else will need to be your backup."

     "I don't need a babysitter for this," Edward grumbled. "It's just the Tringhams."

     The expression on Roy's face was strange. Hawkeye had never seen him hesitate to send the right person for the job before, no matter how dangerous it was. "Of course you need a babysitter," he told the young alchemist after an uneasy pause. "That's a war zone." While Edward was still looking away, Roy turned his face so Hawkeye couldn't quite see it clearly, but she could see him swallow and take a deep breath to regain his calm.

     And she couldn't miss the way he played with the button on the pocket where he kept his gloves.

     _Roy. You're not..._

     Part of her job was to know what Roy Mustang was thinking, and she was good at her job. Roy needed her to be. But as much as she knew he cared for every one of his subordinates and didn't consider a person he cared for to be expendable, she'd never expected to see him so troubled as this about putting someone at risk. They'd all earned his trust long ago, Edward included. But Hawkeye could just barely see his hand clenching against the table now, and heard the strained edge on his voice.

     "If I could, I'd send a full battalion to back you up, but that's not an option. So you're going to make do with the best man I have to send."

     "I don't _need_\--"

     "If you have any complaints--"

     "Lots!" Edward yelled as he whipped his head around with his eyes flaring.

     The Brigadier stared down the other alchemist in silence, but not for long. After a moment, he took the page with Edward's 'report' scrawled in purple marker off the table and walked away toward the filing cabinets at the other end of room. With his back to both of them, his voice echoed loud across the office. "Keep them to yourself. I'm going with you. That's final."

     Hawkeye watched him pull out a drawer and thumb through the tabs, too far away for she or Edward to read the expression on his face. Once he'd retrieved a thick file, he walked back to his desk without another glance at the corner, the map, or Edward.

     For five years, she'd watched him miss the boy who'd disappeared, and she'd said '_Yes, sir_' every time he'd insisted Edward Elric would come home someday. She'd seen how much it bothered him to think he'd lost one of the best friends he had left. No wonder it had been such a surprise to see his behavior earlier this morning. Roy took his friends far more seriously than he took his lovers. The expression on his face now said he hadn't expected to be so afraid of losing Edward again, the day after he'd come home. Maybe for good.

     Edward stared after the Brigadier, far more placid than he'd been before. "You, huh?" he murmured, biting his lip. After a moment, he kicked his left foot against the floor and pushed off the wall. One by one, he found all the scattered markers under the map and on the table, and collected them into their case. "I guess I can't stop you," the blond called out loud enough for Roy to hear.

     The words seemed to ease his mind. He let out a long breath, as if he'd been holding it in as he waited to hear if Edward would keep fighting him. "I'll need a full report -- _in writing_, Fullmetal, for my eyes only." The Brigadier seemed to have recollected his poise once he looked up. "Still, this is good work. On our way out, I think I'll get you that drink I promised you."

     "Why? If I'm thirsty, I'll get water."

     A look of profound confusion passed over Roy's face as Edward took a seat at the table to work. The blond didn't notice, absorbed in his work as he was. "The intent is to go out somewhere and spend time together," Roy answered, now with a smile stealing across his lips. "The drink is a means to that end."

     Edward's chair squeaked on the floor when he whipped around. "I don't want to drink things with you!"

     "Don't be absurd. Of course you do."

     _Crimony, Roy. Do you have any idea that you're in love with him?_

     Well, as long as Edward seemed like he didn't want any part of being with Roy, she had no intention of raising the issue. "Brigadier General Mustang," Hawkeye interjected. "I can leave the rest of your schedule for you, sir, if there are any preparations you need me to make."

     He turned and nodded. "Very good, Captain. I think it's going to rain on Sunday. If you could see to planning?"

     "Yes, sir." She straightened up into a crisp salute and hurried away, with a stop to leave the schedule on Roy's desk as promised.

     Once she reached the outer office, Capt. Havoc looked up from arranging his model stickball pitch. "Sounds like big plans in there."

     "Brigadier General Mustang and Edward-kun are heading north to assess the situation at the border, so we'll have some work to do before they leave. The Brigadier has reason to believe it will rain on Sunday."

     2nd Lt. Fuery joined Capt. Havoc in staring at Hawkeye, and Lt. Breda even consented to wake up from his nap and remove the book that had been covering his eyes. None of them wanted to hear those words, and she couldn't blame them. Investigating the upper brass to find out which member, or members, of the Council of Generals might be working with a foreign power to stage a coup and establish a new military dictatorship was risky and complicated. And if they got caught before they found what they needed, whoever they were hunting could roast everyone in their department with a tribunal, or worse.

     But that was life when you wanted to work with Roy Mustang, and they all knew how not to get caught.

     "Damn," Havoc replied, picking up the phone after the moment of silence ended. "Guess I'll have to cancel that picnic with Col. Armstrong."

 

~//~

 

     "You have a code word for _that_?" Edward asked.

     Roy had spent most of the walk from Headquarters to wherever this was explaining that the office was bugged, so they had to assume the enemy knew everything they knew, and from now on he wasn't allowed to _breathe_ if he wasn't doing it in some stupid code where talking about the weather meant '_While I'm out of town, I think someone on the Council will try to overthrow the government, if you don't mind figuring out who he is_'. That was worse than claiming '_Let's go out for a drink_' actually meant, '_I want to tell you something secret and the office is bugged, so let's head somewhere noisy and public_' and that Edward should have known all of that from context. How had that been even a little bit clear? It was saying one thing and meaning another, and if he didn't have the key to the code Mustang was using (which was a _stupid_ code), then he was going to need a little more context than _that_ to figure it out. This was why conspiracies _sucked_.

     He sighed and walked through the door to the bar where Roy had led him. "I don't know how you people get anything done. What if you _actually_ wanted to tell somebody you thought it might rain on a Sunday?"

     "We handle the weather as it arises. This situation requires secrecy and pre-planning. Obviously, the code word was necessary."

     "Yeah, well maybe you could have told me there was someone listening to our conversations before I explained how I actually got back from Earth, or did I not mention how I didn't want the military to know about that?"

     "Your secret's safe, Fullmetal," he answered. They took two stools at the far end of the bar, a little ways apart from the crowd. "I take the bugs out of my _desk_. I leave them in the meeting spaces to keep our enemies from getting any more creative. Besides, covert intelligence is a double-edged sword." Roy took off his hat and set it on the bar beside them. "If my enemy knows something he could only have learned by spying, then I know my enemy."

     Edward stretched his hands over his head. It'd been a long, sucky day. "I can't believe I finally get home and you're running another conspiracy."

     Roy laughed as he waved over the man minding the store. "It's still the same conspiracy, Fullmetal. Nations are rarely rebuilt in five short years."

     "Mustang-san. What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

     "Bourbon on the rocks."

     "And for--"

     Edward found himself staring back at the hard, blue eyes of a man with greying hair who clearly didn't think he belonged here. The bartender glanced back at Roy for a second, then puzzled up his face. Even before the man asked, he knew what was coming.

     "... How old are you, kid?"

     "Look, I'm _twenty_\--"

     But he swallowed his words before the number got out. He _wasn't_ actually twenty-nine. The birth year his dad had put on his papers was just a (sometimes convenient) failure to do math -- and it wasn't going to fly now that he was back here. There was a slim chance he'd aged extra when he'd gone through, but only if time had done something when he'd jumped to Earth that he was pretty sure wasn't possible, and which still wouldn't make him 29 because it left open the question of whether coming back to Amestris had eliminated or reduplicated the effect, which might make him as old as... Four trips times six years (assuming the years had been dropped, not just numbered differently), plus twenty-three years he'd lived through... 47? So, no. No way. If that'd happened at all, it had been canceled out, and it _probably_ hadn't ever happened. As for things that he _did_ need to reconcile, he'd spent seven years over there and now everyone was telling him he'd been gone for five, and depending on which of four different things had happened, the relative rate of timeflow might have up to four different constants. Assuming he'd thought of everything.

     What a headache.

     '_How old are you?_' was a better question than he'd thought.

     "You said it's 1920?" he asked Roy. The bastard nodded, with that smarmy-ass smile that Edward could never figure out why he liked. "Okay. So I've got to be twenty-one at least. Well, probably. I'll be damned if I know how I'd get any younger."

     The bartender cleared his throat. "I'm gonna have to see some ID." With a sigh, he pulled out the stupid card Roy had given him this morning and handed it over, while the man himself laughed at the whole situation.

     It wasn't funny. He really didn't know how old he was.

     Okay, so it was a little bit funny.

     "Sorry about the trouble," the bartender said, handing back the card. "So, what'll it be?"

     Edward scanned the array of bottles on the back wall and pointed to something bright yellow in a bottle that stuck up five inches above everything else. "I'll have that."

     The man put two glasses out in front of them and shook his head. "All right, kid. You want '_that_' on the rocks or straight up?"

     Which meant _what_, exactly? Well, Roy had ordered his 'on the rocks', so...

     "Straight up."

     When the man poured the drinks, it turned out the distinction was between 'ice' and 'no ice'. No wonder Roy liked this place if you had to use little code phrases to explain things when you _could_ just say what you mean. Codes belonged in research notes, or when you really had something to hide, not when you were trying to tell random people what you wanted to drink.

     "Cheers," Roy said.

     Edward clinked his glass against the Colonel's and took a sip of the yellow stuff the bartender had poured into it. Wasn't bad, whatever it was. Tasted kind of like vanilla.

     Roy frowned at the brown stuff he'd ordered. "We leave for the North as soon as your mechanic can replace your automail," he said, but after starting in on business he fell into a quieter tone. "You finally get home, and the next day I ask you to go on a mission and leave your brother behind. I suppose that timing leaves a great deal to be desired."

     That was more apology than he'd needed, really. They were going north for, what? A week? And not even immediately. He didn't want to leave Al, but at least he was still in the same _dimension_, and he wouldn't have begged off the job even if the Colonel had offered him the chance. It needed to be done. And as much as Edward hated to admit that he harbored any sentimentality for the bastard, it was moments like this that told him he was in denial. Sometimes, when Roy dropped his mask, there was a firm set to his jaw and to his eyes. Resolve, was what that was. It was a good look on him.

     "So you're a jackass. I knew that." Edward shook his head. He didn't want to indulge that sentimentality, even if he did succumb to it sometimes. "And I'm not going to die, if that's what you've been thinking. Even if you don't come with me, I'll be _fine_."

     The way Mustang looked at him sent a chill down his spine, just like that day after Liore when the Colonel had caught him running. "Yes, you will, Fullmetal. Anything else is unacceptable."

     "Yeah, well." Edward took another small sip of yellow stuff. "That goes for you, too. Got it?"

     That was when the Colonel started laughing again.

     "_What?!_"

     "Nothing. That chair suits you, that's all."

     "What's _that_ supposed to mean? And why are you the expert on what _suits_ me today?"

     Roy didn't give any answer beyond that damn smirk.

     "Weirdo."

     They settled into an oddly comfortable silence while they waited for the bartender to finish with another customer nearby and walk out of earshot, but once he was gone Edward figured he'd pick up with the conspiracy talk. That was why Roy had brought him here, wasn't it? Not to make a big deal about how somebody didn't want somebody else to get hurt, especially when this was something they could both handle without breaking a sweat.

     "So if the the bad guys heard our whole plan before, like you said, I'm guessing that's not the real plan."

     "Very good, Fullmetal. They'll expect us to go north and set up a telegraph line, which we'll do. That's still important for Alphonse-kun's research if nothing else. But in addition to that..." Roy swirled the brown liquid and ice in his glass before he took another sip. "You and I are going to end the war."

     Edward cracked a smile. Of course that was what they were doing. No half-assed biscuit runs for Roy Mustang.

     "And here I thought it'd be something complicated."

 

* * *

 

Omake: "Still At It"

 

_Fifteen Years Hence..._

 

     “Sir?”

     Hawkeye managed to redirect Roy's attention from the scene of Edward working at the filing cabinets. She understood that her commander was easily distracted at any time when Edward was standing nearby (or sometimes sitting, for that matter), but he did need to finish these questions for the radio interview tomorrow. With ordinary paperwork, she could allow him to use his normal method of trading off looking and writing, but Roy simply couldn't be trusted with profile questionnaires, and the answers that went on this sheet would be the subjects of tomorrow’s questions. If she would need to double-check his work anyway, she might as well not let him get his hands on it to start with.

     “What have we got now?” he asked.

     She glanced down at the paper. “Next question. What is your favorite place in the world to be?”

     “My favorite place to be?” Roy let out a laugh and glanced back toward the filing cabinets. Edward, meanwhile, finished what he was doing and stalked away, with Roy's gaze tracking him back across the room. “Isn't that obvious?” he asked, failing to suppress an impish grin.

     And this was why she never let him do this himself. Some people might have expected him to grow a sense of propriety by the age of fifty, but Hawkeye had never been under a delusion that a bit of grey hair at his temples would endow Roy Mustang with mature restraint.

     Neither was Edward, of course. As soon as he heard the response, he whipped his head around -- just quick enough to see Roy turn his attention to reorganizing the pen holder on his desk. “Oh, _hell_ no,” the other alchemist informed him. “If you tell her to put my name on that paper, I _will_ throw you out that window, Roy.”

     “You don't expect me to lie, do--”

     Before she could blink, Edward had reached Roy's chair and smacked their commander across the back of the head. The past several years hadn't reduced the frequency of their fights, and the net total of violence and shouting had remained constant. To a certain degree, the duration of any given fight had reduced, but only because regular practice had lent the two of them a great deal of efficiency.

     “Ow.” Roy rubbed the back of his head, still grinning at the blond.

     “You're good at lying. Make something up! Or do you want the whole country to think you're a dirty old man?”

     “I simply feel the public deserves the truth, Fullmetal.”

     “Speaking as someone who has to listen to you talk, trust me: they'd rather you didn't make an ass of yourself. _Pick something else!_”

     While the blond tried to pull Roy's chair away from the desk and drag it towards the window (with Roy hanging on to the desk and apparently having the time of his life), Hawkeye wrote ‘Concert Hall’ under the offending question. Edward was going to win that argument. She’d make certain of it.

 

~//~

 

     He found Edward in the same place where he always found the blond after a long day at work and before dinner. His ‘personal guard’, ‘gentleman in residence’, or whatever inappropriate term one decided to apply, liked to camp at one end of the living room couch with a book and a grim expression for a few hours around this time of day. Roy took his own book from the coffeetable. Obviously, if Edward didn’t want to be bothered, he wouldn’t sit in such an indefensible position. Those were basic tactics.

     Like he did almost every day, he climbed onto the couch and laid down between Edward’s legs, resting his book on his companion’s chest.

     “You again?”

     He met his blond’s scowl with a smile. “What else can you expect when you lay there so invitingly?” The spine of Fullmetal’s book fell down on his forehead, and his companion turned a page with a sigh.

     “Have it your way.”

     “I always do,” Roy answered. The man might complain, but he never objected. Edward’s legs pressed against his side, and sometimes a stray hand ran through his hair. If he was particularly lucky, his companion wouldn’t object too strenuously when a chance to play with a long golden lock distracted Roy from his own reading. And if he were tired, he could close his eyes and lay his cheek on his lover’s chest, as the swell when Edward breathed slowly in and out rocked him to sleep.

     It was as close to heaven as he ever expected to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **1) "How the Leopard Got His Spots"** is the fourth story in Rudyard Kipling's Just-So Stories. The chapter that should appear in the next month or two is entitled "The Gathering of the Nations", which source may be the second biggest challenge to guess out of all the titles. I look forward to seeing if anyone can claim virtual cookies by successfully guessing the book I nabbed this from.
> 
> **2) "Crimony"**
> 
> I'm only footnoting this because I'd forgotten it existed before I wrote this chapter, and the way I found it was... roundabout. None of the swear words I could pull to mind sounded right, so I cast about for one that did. In that endeavor, I had absolutely no luck until (in a complete fit of desperation) I googled the phrase, "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle".
> 
> ... ... ...
> 
> Hey, it found me a list of mild expletives for use in expressing shock or surprise. I'll take it. (Specifically, I took the link to "crikey" and chose "crimony" -- or more commonly "criminy" -- from among its related terms.)
> 
> **3) Edward's age**
> 
> The complicated part of this will be a feature in the next chapter, so I won't go into the "7 vs. 5" year change at this time. I promise, it does work (even with the movie timeline of 2 years to 2 years) and I will explain.
> 
> **4) "That"**
> 
> Edward's beverage choice was made by randomly selecting a name from a list of items that would appear in a well-stocked bar. In case you're wondering, the bright yellow stuff in the oversized bottle is Galliano -- or at least its Amestrian cognate.
> 
> **Omake:** While I was stuck on a bit of characterization this past Saturday, I realized what I needed was to rewatch the version of the series from which this story is drawn -- and I had to do it quickly, because this release was already much later than I had intended. So, I sat down with my DVDs, a sandwich, and my cats; and when I was looped out on lack of sleep the next morning, this happened.
> 
> WARNING: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. Marathoning 51 episodes of anime between 7PM and whenever you finish the next day (this is noon, minimum, if you don't fast forward anything), then immediately driving an hour to run your weekly anime club is not recommended. For your safety and that of others on the road, try to sleep at least 6 hours before driving long distances. That being as it is, I am happy to say that no motor accidents were caused in the delirium that brought you the omake at the end of this chapter.


	4. The Gathering of the Nations

     Practicing alchemy, his brother had declared earlier this morning, was like 'falling off a bicycle'. He'd had to learn how to get on not doing it, and had succeeded brilliantly, but to forget how the process worked or lose an ounce of skill was (Edward had said) too ridiculous a notion to be considered. Nii-san _did_ like to bluster. In front of the Research and Development staff, he'd been the picture of confidence (although Alphonse knew that Edward had been testing himself in secret over the last few days). None of them could believe that -- after years spent unable to practice transmutation in any way -- his brother had maintained the level of precision he demonstrated in his scientific 'proof' of the existence of his pseudo-scientific 'wavicles'.

     Nii-san _also_ liked to make things up, even if he wasn't very good at it, and Alphonse wasn't sure what kind of miracle had kept the military scientists from questioning the demonstration.

     None of them were willing to admit they hadn't understood it, he had to assume. Or perhaps they'd been distracted by the basic principle of Nii-san's experiment in showing that light appeared to have some kind of material component, and they'd forgotten that they were supposed to be evaluating whether or not there were magical wave-particles that had anything to do with alchemy or inter-world travel. Either way, his brother had clearly learned a lot of fascinating things during his five years away if he'd been able to come up with such a sophisticated sleight-of-hand so easily.

     Well, Nii-san had told him it wasn't five years, actually. His brother had decided not to bother with explanations on that as far as the military's understanding was concerned -- deeming it 'unimportant' (whether that was in reference to the military or their understanding, Alphonse couldn't say) -- but he'd explained over dinner his first night home that he'd been away _seven_ years.

     Probably. That was what Nii-san was trying to figure out now. His brother had decided to stay in Research a bit longer to set up an experiment: observing a timepiece he'd brought back with him from Earth and comparing it to the most accurate local clock he could find. If the mechanisms showed any insight into the differences in the flow of time, Nii-san had concluded, he'd be able to work out precisely what age he ought to be. It made sense, after a fashion. He didn't have to stay here while he worked, of course; Nii-san could easily have taken down his table of numbers in Brigadier General Mustang's office. That said, Alphonse was quite glad to have him around a little longer before he went away on assignment.

     "Nii-san."

     Edward looked up from his work as Alphonse sat down on the stool next to his. Three or four lines of typed numbers trailed out on the ticker tape coming from the back of his machine. "What is it, Al?"

     "Well, I was thinking maybe you should show me how to take notes for you. You'll be leaving for the North as soon as Winry can replace your automail, right? Will that be enough time to get all the data you need?"

     "Enough for some math. Not enough to be _sure_." His brother stretched his arms over his head and yawned. "The system's pretty simple. I've got this keypad rigged so that the instant I enter an Earth time, the local clock prints a reading next to it. You just need to type the date and time shown on the watch every few minutes. And if I'm lucky, the clock'll read like it's running fast. 1.169 times as fast, if I'm _really_ lucky, though I'm starting to doubt it."

     Alphonse frowned at the little ticker tape device. "If you're lucky?"

     "I calculated based on the exact dates I went from here to there and when I came back. It wasn't two whole extra years I spent on Earth, just 1.169 times as many days, approximately." Nii-san rubbed the back of his head and scowled at the numbers. "It would mean Earth people just counted days and hours and whatever differently and I hadn't spent any extra _time_ there if that watch was running fast, I'm pretty sure. Doesn't look like it's gonna turn out that way, though. Not going to be the second best option, either."

     "What do you mean?"

     His brother sighed. The device ticked away, blissfully unaware that it was causing Edward such consternation. "Getting dropped into a timestream that's just... I don't know. Maybe in some part of the universe where time moves 1.169 times faster than here for some reason. But if that happened, a second would still be a second, and these times would match up precisely -- though the chances are basically nil that people on some other world have a time unit that's exactly the same as ours. Of course, their calendar and their hours and such matched up, and that's freaky enough, so maybe." Edward stretched his arms over his head again. "But it's no use getting into how that would work _now_. These numbers aren't tracking at all."

     "So what does that mean?" he asked as he peeked at the few lines printed on his brother's paper.

     Edward scoffed and threw him a manic grin. "_Really_ nasty calculations. I bet I can extrapolate a little something tonight, but I'm definitely going to need at least a month of regular readings, if not more, just for a reasonable demonstration that the time interchange coefficient is constant. If the watch from Earth does something like count off twelve hours in the next twenty-four, and then count forty-eight hours the day after that..." His brother dropped into a whistle and shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the apparatus.

     Alphonse tried to imagine what a variable interchange of time might mean or -- more confusing yet -- how it might affect his brother's calculations. "I hope it doesn't do _that_."

     "Yeah. So do I," his brother replied. He didn't _look_ too upset by the possibility, though. Apparently, Edward hadn't outgrown his love of overcomplication. "It's too bad I didn't have a watch from here with me on the other side," he went on. "I could really use some of that data, too."

     Alphonse frowned at the chain hanging off of his brother's belt and trailing into his pocket -- a new silver watch, the only part of his uniform and insignia that Nii-san had kept. But Edward had already forgiven him for the loss of his old one, hadn't he? And even if his original hadn't been vaporized along with the city of Liore when Scar had transmuted him into the Philosopher's Stone, it wasn't as if Nii-san ever _checked_ his watch, or would have attributed a time discrepancy (had he noticed one) to anything but shoddy craftsmanship of the military's timepiece.

     Edward's thinking out loud trailed off into a groan. When he drummed his fingers on the table, even through his gloves the sharp strikes of his metal right hand echoed harshly off the walls and drowned out the softer rhythm of his left. Maybe he was just oversensitive to the sound. After his brother had given up so much to get Alphonse his life and body back, this was still...

     Broken. He wasn't any closer to finding a way to bring his brother's arm and leg back than he'd been when he started studying alchemy again five years ago.

     "Nii-san," he said quietly.

     From his seat on the laboratory stool, his brother turned to look at him, eye to eye.

     "Nii-san, I'm still looking for a way to get your own arm and leg back." Edward's mouth drew tight, and he went back to entering times on his machine. "I haven't found it yet, but I'm sure--"

     "Leave it, Al."

     "What are you saying?" he asked with a wince.

     The ticking second hand of his Earth-watch advanced through the silence, and Edward didn't look up at him. Looking at his brother's older face now summoned back a few more memories he hadn't recalled. In the bent of his eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw, Alphonse could see reflections of times they'd had this conversation before. But Nii-san had never told him to 'leave it' until now. He was sure of that much.

     "Didn't we decide when we first took the State Alchemy exam that we'd --"

     "I said leave it." Nii-san smiled at him -- that big, painful smile he used when he'd made a decision to take too much on himself. "This's been my body as long as anything else I've known. C'mon. Why don't I take that one on the chin, huh?"

     "I don't want you living that way for my sake, Nii-san! I'll do whatever it takes."

     "Is that why you became a State Alchemist, Al?"

     He frowned at his brother. "Don't change the subject."

     Edward scratched his nose and entered another line on his machine while heavy thoughts knitted up his brow. With a sigh, he spoke, but didn't look up. "Dad had a theory, like he knew about your amnesia or something. He thought the years we spent traveling together were the price you traded for getting your body back." He bared his teeth in another grin. "Well, you know me and him. We disagreed on a lot of things. How alchemy works, what to have for dinner, whether there was any way to get home. The memories you lost were just one more thing. But even if it wasn't _the price_, it was still an effect." When his brother looked up, it was easy to see he had trouble forming the words. Edward tapped his head. "Your mind had memories that were never burned into your brain, I think. As soon as your soul was back where it belonged, those four years were harder to catch onto than the memories your body had recorded. Given that, if you're still saying you want to get my arm and leg back..."

     Alphonse stayed quiet while his brother stacked up the books and papers he'd brought with him. He wouldn't have known what he wanted to say, even if he did want to interrupt. Edward had come home on his own before any of his research could find a new way to move through the gate at all, let alone safely, but the dream they'd begun with wasn't quite finished. Alphonse had had some hope that his brother might even say what he'd done to bring his own body back. No one else really knew.

     He probably wouldn't get to hear about that now. Not without promising not to try adapting it to help Nii-san, at any rate, and it wasn't as if he wanted to lie to his brother.

     "Well, I guess you thought it was worth the trade," Edward went on. "That's a load off _my_ mind, anyway. I wanted you back, but four years is a lot to lose when it wasn't what you'd bargained for. Now I'm going on closer to ten, at least." Edward took off his glove and stretched out his right arm, looking at it and flexing his metal hand. "Believe me, not a second of that's worth an arm and a leg. I've got things in those years I can't lose."

     "Nii-san, you don't keep your memories in your arms. You wouldn't--"

     "_Might_ not lose anything." He slid the stack of books over and typed another line into his machine. "Are you sure about that, Al? Because all I've got is a theory. And what if something happened to you when you did the transmutation? _Hell_ no. Getting you back in one piece might have been worth any price nature could take, but this isn't. That's where it ends."

     "You don't have to be worried for my sake. I want to help you, and I know the risks. That's my choice."

     "And this is mine."

     He couldn't exactly tell his brother, '_No, it isn't_,' and he knew better than anybody that the vague haze of his memories and the way he didn't quite _know_ people who knew him was a sacrifice. They'd never done any kind of human transmutation yet but it had cost more than they'd bargained for; Nii-san was right about that much. That didn't make the thought of leaving his brother with an automail arm and leg any easier.

     "I'm sorry, Al. I know it isn't what you want, but like I said..." He sighed and looked out the door before he turned back to Alphonse with a sad smile. "I've got things I won't risk losing." His brother rubbed his neck and acted like the conversation was over.

     Maybe it was. Or maybe he just needed a moment to think of a way to explain that Nii-san couldn't stop him from looking for an answer.

     "And if you've got your own reasons for joining the military," Edward started again after a moment of quiet, "I'm proud of where you've gotten yourself. But losing you to a war definitely isn't worth my arm."

     Well, he was one to talk.

     "And what about you, Nii-san? You could retire, but you're not going to."

     "Yeah, and if I did, who'd keep an eye on _Colonel Puppetmaster_ and make sure he's not wrecking up the joint?"

     Alphonse folded his hands on the workbench and shook his head with a sigh. It would be nice if his brother would ever admit how fond he was of the Brigadier, and of the rest of the officers under Mustang's command. But that wasn't quite Nii-san's way of doing things. In the end, even that idiotic stubborn streak was part of his brother whom he'd missed so badly, and he wouldn't trade that for the world.

     And maybe, if he thought about it that way, he could see why his brother wouldn't let him win this time.

     "Captain Hawkeye can keep Brigadier General Mustang in line, I should think. But I know you won't leave. You've got things you can't lose, right? Well, so have I. And this is the best place I can be to protect them."

     He knew from the way his brother sniffed and how his forehead relaxed just the tiniest bit that they'd both understood each other. That was enough.

     "Besides, the country's changed while you were away. A _certain someone_ has been lobbying the Parliament and the Council for the past few years to demilitarize the State Alchemists, as part of transferring control to the civilian government. He kept telling them that, to rebuild the country, we need to recruit a wider range of alchemists -- people whose skills are useful in peace as well as war. And he insisted the government could only do it if they stopped requiring alchemists to be human weapons." Which resolution, Alphonse couldn't help thinking, the Brigadier would probably like to see completed as soon as possible now that Edward was back. "A few months ago, he sent me word that the generals had finally agreed to examine the possibilities. That's when I joined up, to help support that."

     Edward's face showed a hint of a smile that even his brother couldn't hide under a scowl while he typed another line for his experiment. "State Alchemist, but not a dog of the military, huh? I'd like to see the 'certain someone' who can make _that_ happen someday."

     "Don't play dense, Nii-san. You know who's doing it."

     His brother made one of the two faces he only made when he was talking about Mustang-san. Of course, this one -- the happy one -- was quite a bit more rare than his particularly annoyed face. "That tricky bastard," his brother muttered through a bemused grin.

     Most days, he only _thought_ Nii-san was utterly intractable on purpose. Some days, he was certain.

 

~//~

 

     How Roy managed to keep his office running was more of a mystery than ever.

     "Lt. Falman, how did your volunteer hours at the student cultural exchange go?" The jackass didn't even look up from his paperwork to check on how half-dead his subordinate looked. Doing a full day's work at the office, then dedicating his spare time to 'volunteering' for a cause he didn't have any particular interest in, and doubling up his attention while he was there to memorizing every conversation General Hakuro's wife and family might have (and the General himself, whenever he showed up) was a quick ticket to running out of steam. Falman was holding up all right, he guessed, but he still looked like another week of that crap would make him keel over.

     "No problems, sir. Another quiet night."

     Edward had had to find a way to work the same phrase into something he said when he came back from lunch. It would have been easier and just as clear to say, 'Nothing going on with Lt. General Bloch in R&amp;D,' but it _had_ to be the code phrase, or apparently he hadn't really relayed the message. That message being, in Falman's case: 'I don't think General Jerkface is plotting a coup, sir. Can I maybe please go home and sleep at a normal hour this evening?'

     "Wonderful. Keep up the good work," Mustang replied.

     Falman sighed and went back to filing.

     That filing cabinet was the worst part, really. That was freaking ridiculous. Not a piece of paper went in there but it had three different meanings you had to account for. Setting aside how the order of the pages and which direction they were facing could tell you who was investigating what, all the files had to include real intel, but never anything that mattered to any of Roy's super-secret investigations. That stuff was hidden in the patterns of letters using the bitchy little code Roy was making him practice on his wavicle report to the higher-ups. It was a pain in the butt inserting hidden messages into ordinary text, but he was almost done with it for the day and it wasn't that _hard_ of a code. He was used to writing his notes in a much more sophisticated one -- he sure as hell didn't want anybody reading them, no matter what -- but the way the Colonel ran his conspiracies meant focusing on no one _finding_ the messages instead of no one being able to crack them. It was a whole different set of muscles.

     You have to know this process like the back of your hand, Fullmetal.

     You have to be able to write it without thinking, no matter your situation, Fullmetal, and read what someone else wrote on the spot.

     Why don't you learn to dance on your head and play pinochle with your feet while you're at it, Fullmetal?

     Well, at least Roy hadn't actually asked him to do that last one, not that he would have had time. While he wasn't busy satisfying all the scientists' questions about the fake version of quantum physics he'd just made up, the Colonel had asked him to catalog every single member of ever single department in Central command with a complete report on the 'interaction of power dynamics'. Who answered to whom, who was loyal to whom, and fifty million other ridiculous minutiae that, unless Edward was very much mistaken, Roy probably already knew just by walking around the halls looking at people.

     And once he was done, he was supposed to rewrite it, hidden in the already-annoying wavicle report, using _the stupidest code ever_.

     Jackass.

     No one ought to need a map like this for navigating bureaucracy -- Roy Mustang least of all -- but there he was, sitting at his desk, feeling absolutely no guilt over the excessive levels of crazy bullshit work he thought everyone needed to do.

     As if he could sense that Edward was thinking about him, Roy turned his head up a second later to watch him work. Again. Talk about unwanted habits. His stupid crush on the bastard wasn't anything Edward wanted to see a reason to indulge. He certainly didn't want _the Colonel_ to think that mindless flirting was going to get him anywhere. Roy didn't say anything, of course, just locked eyes from across the room and smiled.

     Why the hell did that asshole have to be just as hot as he remembered? He probably did it just to be annoying. At least the table was quite sufficiently too far away to smell Roy's aftershave. Sure, physical attractiveness was an end of personal grooming, but did it have to be that _effective_?

     Edward scowled his worst across the expanse of the office and twisted his chair around with a squeal across the floor so his back was to the man's desk. This was better for working on his shitty assignment _anyway_, and it was easier to quash his stupid hormones without Roy making some kind of a damned come-on. Because there was dumb, there was _moronic_, and then there was flirting with Roy Mustang. He couldn't stop the Colonel from flirting _at_ him -- the jackass did it like breathing -- but in no way did his own deranged sex drive obligate him to reciprocate in some meaningless exchange of 'meaningful looks'.

     _Six regular print letters for an A..._ he thought, and ignored the bustle of the office (along with his theoretical commander) as he focused on recopying another block of text into the patterns he was supposed to practice. _N is two regular, two funny-looking, then one regular and one funny-looking..._

     At least when it was written down, you never had to assume that every damn word had a double meaning. Now, not being able to ask anybody, 'Did I hear that right?' or 'Do you actually mean xyz?' when they were talking... that really sucked. Though he had to admit that Roy knew what he was doing. It wasn't that bastard's fault if the thousand little pieces of strategic information he'd fed like tracking dye into every office in the military didn't surface anywhere. Maybe the culprit was onto them and was just as careful as the Colonel, or maybe there was some way someone outside the military could run this, or maybe the man (or woman) they were looking for just wasn't freaking paying attention. Roy didn't sweat it. It'd been less than a week, he'd say, and everybody who was hiding something had to slip up someday -- which was why he claimed he would never slip up. Because he was 'digging up the truth, not trying to keep it buried'.

     What a load of bullshit. Like Breda wasn't hiding anything while he was busting his ass to get picked for Marshal Levochkin's sprint relay team for field day. You couldn't spy on someone and be honest about what you were doing. It didn't work that way. He just hoped one of their sources slipped up on something soon, because if Edward had learned one thing from his crash course in conspiracies, it was that they were every bit as bothersome as he'd expected. After almost a week of it, he was already on edge enough to start pulling out his hair.

     Or maybe he was just stir-crazy. The last seven years (or whatever) had been one action-packed blur (okay, so more 'study' than 'action', but that was mostly the same in the end), like a race in a dream that never stopped or slowed down, and now that he'd finally crossed the goal line and woken up, even the fast bustle of Roy's office staff in full crazy mode seemed like an easy stroll. It was relaxing when he was working on something, but when a project was winding up, he kept itching for something new to do. Going up north might be a good way to get all those pent-up nerves out of his system.

     Although Roy would be there. It wouldn't be so bad, objectively, to be in close quarters with the Colonel and no one else for however long the mission lasted, but _subjectively_ the situation had considerable potential to get uncomfortable and/or embarrassing.

     _Well, I hope he gets over his staring thing before we leave, or I might have to introduce his face to a railroad track._

     That was when Fuery stumbled across the threshold with his arms full of paperwork nearly up to his head. It was all he could do just to push the door closed with his foot.

     "Ah, pardon me, I just--"

     "Greetings, gentlemen!"

     An effervescent-as-usual Colonel Armstrong burst in, and Fuery fell over in a white paper flurry.

     "Oh dear..." The half-buried 2nd Lieutenant started sorting the documents back into several stacks, with the help of every other officer in the room -- provided Roy standing by in a supervisory position could be counted as 'help'. Edward only paused to copy down the rest of his last line before he headed over himself.

     "Here," he said, and shoved the coded document into the Colonel's chest.

     Roy flipped through the first few pages. "That was fast."

     "Yeah, well I'm fast." He could just _feel_ the man's eyes over his shoulder now. Laughing -- silently, but _he could tell_. What Roy thought was funny was unclear; still, he sure as hell wasn't in the mood for any of the officer's games. Edward whipped back around and brandished one of the fallen papers in the general direction of Mustang's stupid smirk. "_Don't look at me like that!_"

     The smirk dropped off and Roy went back to flipping through the report. "Good work, Fullmetal. I'll be sure to put this to use."

     "Whatever," he muttered.

     Armstrong apologized to Fuery as he studied one of the papers he was sorting. "I hope I haven't done any lasting harm to the organization of your... ah..."

     "They're provenances, sir," Fuery supplied. "Marshal Wright asked me to investigate some allegations of forgery at the foreign arts festival opening next month."

     "Trouble?" Mustang asked.

     "Ah, well... no, sir. Not as such. Aside from a few university and museum people at each other's throats over a few brushstrokes, you know. It was another quiet night."

     Apparently, Marshal Wright wasn't showing any signs of working with Drachma either, which was extra special given that half the art at the show he'd sponsored came from there.

     "Glad to hear it. But Colonel Armstrong, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

     Their visitor stood up to attention. "Word reached me that you'd be traveling north personally. If it's not too much to ask..."

     "I would be happy to take your regards to your sister, Colonel."

     He pulled a letter out of his uniform and handed it off to Mustang with a bow. "Thank you very much, sir. Oh, and Lieutenant..." he said, turning to Breda with an aside that sounded a little too much like an afterthought to actually be one. "I saw an announcement at the gymnasium that Marshal Levochkin would have to pull out of the relay for field day. An urgent tour of the water reclamations facilities, I believe, to take stock of their current defensive situation. Had you heard?"

     "No." Breda collapsed backwards in a pile as Armstrong bowed and excused himself.

     Fantastic. Of all the offices to lose a point of contact in, it _had_ to be that one. When Roy had told him the other evening how he was more worried about surveilling Levochkin than anyone because, '_he's a tightlipped bastard, and his secretary hates me_', Edward had thought he was joking about exactly how few footholds there were in his staff. But no, apparently Roy had made a pass at the office manager's daughter ten years ago or something, and she'd never forgiven him for it. The entire office (except the Marshal himself) was under tacit instructions not to get close to Mustang or anyone who worked for him, and now their only good way in was closed because _guess who_ was touring the very defenses they were trying to protect from the bad guys.

     Maybe that'd show Roy not to play around.

     Probably not though.

     The man in question was flipping through the report Edward had handed him earlier, calm as could be. "New girl, hmm?" he murmured to himself. "Intern, 18 years old. Hired two weeks ago. She might..." He trailed off as he noticed Edward staring at him. "Can I help you, Fullmetal?"

     The Colonel was using the bullshit report he'd asked for? And could seriously _just read_ that nonsense, straight from undifferentiated blocks of patterned letters? That was sick. Kinda hot, too, in a way, but _seriously..._

     _Did I just think he was hot because he can read a code? Again? Okay, I really need to stop doing that. It's not healthy._

     And he definitely couldn't mention to Roy what he'd been thinking. He'd mock. He'd mock so much. No good could come.

     "I don't know, _Colonel_," he shot back. "I just couldn't hear you muttering over there."

     "Oh, Colonel Armstrong's message reminded me that there's a new hire in Marshal Levochkin's office, that's all," he lied for the benefit of any spies who might be tapping the office. He must have been concerned nigh unto desperation if he wasn't rising to being called 'Colonel' instead of his proper rank, though he didn't look perturbed. "We really ought to send someone over to meet her, don't you think? Let her know she's welcome?"

     Subtext: make contact with the new girl and win her loyalty to _Roy Mustang_ before the Marshal's head secretary can turn her into another stone wall. Problem solved. Lower ranked people were more likely to spill anything they'd overheard anyway.

     "I'd send Havoc," Roy went on, looking at the report in his hands with some concern. "But eighteen is a bit young for him."

     "A bit young for Havoc for what?"

     Roy stared at him with more thought in his expression than usual. After half a heartbeat, he finally answered, "I think she may not find him properly approachable, that's all. Someone closer to her age might..." He trailed off again and flipped another page in the report. "Well, I'm sure 2nd Lt. Fuery or Lt. Breda can manage."

     Edward glanced at the silently panicking, overworked subordinates who'd been named. And who, unless he was mistaken, weren't significantly younger than Havoc. "Uh, Roy? You know I'm the closest person to her age here, right? Why don't I go?" He could use an actual mission that involved some legwork to take the edge off, and the rest of the staff was going crazy from being _too_ busy.

     "I was under the impression that you needed to prep the radio systems for our operation and to clear up any further questions that the high command might have about your miraculous reappearance."

     "Yeah, and?" He stood up to face the officer. "You're holding the last report they asked me for. The radios are ready to go whenever. I think I have time to go say hello to some new girl."

     "The radios are all _completely_ ready, then? And should I also assume you've memorized their transmission frequencies beyond any doubt and are proficient in the code our radio operators will need to learn? I won't risk bringing that information in writing."

     "Done, done, and done. Did you want to pack off North early, or something? Because I could leave now."

     Roy looked like this was a much harder decision than it really ought to be. "I wouldn't put on your coat just yet. You won't be ready to leave until your automail is taken care of. No catching frostbite on my watch."

     "That has less than nothing to do with me having time to go to Marshal Levochkin's office and make contact with some intern. What's the problem?"

     Roy ignored him and walked back to his desk, nose in the report.

     "Do you not think I can _do it_?!" Edward yelled at his back. "Is that what this is about?" The bastard had better not be implying that he couldn't manage a spy mission comprised of _saying hello_.

     "Social interaction is a delicate art, Fullmetal, and you've yet to convince me that you've mastered it."

     Called that one. Edward fumed internally and bit back the words, '_I made you that stupid report you're reading, didn't I?!_' Screaming something about covert operations loud enough for the bugs on the other side of the room to pick it up probably wasn't the best way to demonstrate that he could handle the assignment.

     And damn it, now this was personal.

     "Maybe I'll surprise you," he shot back. "Let me handle it."

     Mustang considered in silence for a moment, mouth narrowed to an uncomfortable line. "As long as it fits in your schedule, I suppose you'd be ideal, as you say." He cleared his throat and flipped through his schedule book. "When did you say your girlfriend is coming?"

     What the...?

     "Excuse me?" Edward asked. If Roy was using a code phrase he was supposed to guess at, the man was really reaching, because that made no sense whatsoever in any possible context.

     "I need to know when your girlfriend will arrive in Central," he answered, not clearing up a single thing. The bastard looked like he expected to be understood, too, but that was his problem for not speaking plainly.

     "What the hell are you talking about, Roy?" Edward pushed. "I don't have any girlfriend."

     "Oh," Roy said, clearly feigning surprise. "I was certain you and the young lady coming from Resembool to fix your automail were--"

     "You mean _Winry_?!" Seriously, was there nothing Mustang wouldn't rather say straight? Why bother calling her his girlfriend now, anyway, when he'd always been content to call her his mechanic before? And if he actually thought Edward did have a girlfriend, why would Roy have been _hitting on him_ all week?

     Well, maybe that really was just a reflex and he'd been entirely right to think it didn't mean anything.

     Not that he wanted it to.

     Stupid _Roy Mustang_.

     He frowned at the filing cabinets on the near wall and muttered, "Even if I were into girls, she's like my sister. Where do you _get_ these ideas?" A flush burned across his face from the way he could still feel Roy's eyes on him. "And would you stop looking at me like that?"

     "We were having a conversation, Fullmetal," he answered and turned to examine his paperwork. "Eye contact is a basic component. I do have my reasons for questioning your qualifications to make a social call. But I stand corrected: the young lady is not your girlfriend." As the other officers in the room finished cleaning up Fuery's provenances and hightailed it away from this particular 'conversation' as fast as they could, Roy's pen tapped slowly on his desk. "I don't suppose you have a boyfriend, then?" he asked at last.

     "Well, no. When would I have--" Edward turned and glared at the Colonel, who was back to _looking_ at him. "That has nothing to do with _anything_."

     "On the contrary. You're an attractive young man with a bright career, and knowing how to handle a lover is a skill you'll need." He hadn't thought anything Roy could say would make him blush, but that was just embarrassing. The smirk that was peeking at the corners of his mouth again was more infuriating than any of it, though. "If you're having trouble, I'd be happy to provide you with some assistance."

     Maybe it was all the training in hearing what people meant instead of what they said, or the fact that Roy's eyes started smoldering at him when that stupid blush burned on his cheeks, or maybe the jackass was just that good at making you know he was flirting no matter what came out of his mouth, but Edward knew they both knew that the 'assistance' on the table was a little more personal than the kind the Colonel usually forced on his staff.

     "Cut the crap, Roy. I'm not interested." That offer was about the last thing he'd ever accept, he thought with a scowl. Unlike some people, he didn't have a compulsion to date anything and everything that moved. "Now, you asked me about Winry for a reason, didn't you?"

     Mustang folded his hands with a heavy sigh and turned to look out the window. So much for eye contact. "If you're finished with your other assignments, we're just waiting on your mechanic to change your arm and leg before we go North. Should we expect her soon?"

     "She'll be here tomorrow." Winry may have screamed bloody murder at him when he'd explained he was going North, but she still said she'd have some modified automail ready at record speed.

     "Good," was all Mustang said for the longest time. Edward had to stare at him for a few seconds before before the Colonel turned back to face him. "What are you waiting for? As I recall, we owe a copy of your report on wavicles to the Marshal's office. You can take it yourself, and extend our welcome to the new intern while you're there."

     He walked back to his table to get a spare copy of the report in question and narrowed his eyes at Mustang from across the room. The officer was absorbed in his work now, straightening stack after stack of paperwork with a series of hard raps on his desk and one hell of a frown. Somebody was cranky all of a sudden.

     "And one more thing, Edward, since I know pleasantries aren't your strongest suit." Roy started signing a run of forms. "I have some instructions you need to follow exactly."

     With a sigh, he asked, "What?" and walked back over.

     When he stopped by the side of Roy's desk, the officer spoke without once glancing away from his forms. "Be sure to ask for her first name, to tell her that her eyes are pretty, and to smile at her before you leave. Can you manage that?"

     "Ah, sure. I guess." What, was this more stupid code stuff? He didn't know how talk about a girl's eyes would trap the big bad, but it had to be. What else could it mean when Roy Mustang insisted on him saying things that didn't make any outright sense and that sounded awkward to work into conversation? Edward frowned in complete confusion and waited for the Colonel to look up. He always did eventually, but he was taking forever this time. "So..." Edward stepped in close enough to whisper. Close enough, too, to catch a faint hint of the aftershave smell he could never properly describe as being anything but 'Roy', but he was doing his best to ignore that. "Are you going to tell me what all that's supposed to mean, or do I have to figure it out?"

     The officer's paper-signing flurry slowed, then halted, and he looked up with an eyebrow shooting into his hairline. Half a smile, too. "Oh, I'd like to see you figure it out for yourself, Edward," he said. The way the bastard was grinning now meant that bad mood must have been a passing cloud, not something he should have been concerned about.

     "Weirdo." He glared at Mustang again and shuffled for the door. Hawkeye and Havoc were on their way in as he left, probably about to report yet another dead angle to the military's number one annoyingly competent jerk.

     Never a dull day covering the would-be Fuhrer's ass.

 

~//~

 

     "Hey there, Cat," he heard Nii-san say from the sitting room. That was how he'd taken to addressing Boots. Ella was '_Mister_', if he recalled properly, and Hijinx was '_Fluff-for-Brains_' when he wasn't '_Jinxy_', which was usually, but Boots was always '_Cat_'. He was Edward's favorite, and the feeling seemed to be mutual; the big cat had never warmed up to anyone quite so quickly. Alphonse was fairly sure it was because his brother sat so still when he was absorbed in his work, making him less likely to disturb Boots when he was in the middle of a nap. Nii-san, in turn, didn't mind because Boots didn't try to get in his way.

     Well. Didn't get in his way as much as the others, at any rate.

     The next words to drift into the kitchen where Alphonse had been getting something to drink were a more exasperated, "Oh, _thanks_. What am I supposed to do with that, huh? I'm still not gonna eat it."

     It sounded like Boots had brought him another rodent. He'd been making a habit of it over the past few days.

     "No, that doesn't mean head-scratches! You know, you remind me of somebody, Cat. And don't give me that look -- that wasn't a compliment!"

     What could you do, really? He was a cat.

     Nii-san walked through the kitchen a moment later, holding out a dead rat between two fingers. He stepped outside to put it in the trash bin and let the door slam as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

     "How's your research going, Nii-san?"

     "You're lucky you're in R&amp;D," his brother said, throwing a look over his shoulder without properly answering the question. "This stuff is a mess. Why can't the country take care of itself without Roy poking at it with a stick until it behaves, huh?"

     The Brigadier must have assigned some new investigation that his brother thought was unnecessary busywork now that he was done cataloging all the personnel in Central.

     "You shouldn't have to trick people into doing what's right," he went on. Nii-san scratched the back of his head and groaned. "It's just... dumb. I don't know."

     His brother tromped back into the sitting room and Alphonse followed, taking a chair near the couch where he wouldn't get in the way of Nii-san's papers. "I'm sure the country and the people could take care of themselves under normal circumstances," he said. "But if someone is trying to--"

     He lost Edward's attention when Boots took their reappearance as an invitation. A black blur leapt onto the seat next to his brother and curled up next to his leg with a head on his knee.

     "You know, he really doesn't appreciate those rats as much as you think he should, Boots."

     The cat didn't look impressed by the insight into his brother's character.

     "Look," Edward replied as he absently scratched the cat behind the ears. "I know he had to take on the whole show with the homunculi before. I know that went all through the upper ranks and no one could protect themselves from it. _I remember_. I even know the new government is just getting its legs, and there's not much in the way of infrastructure yet. _Fine_. But does that mean he has to play the same old game? I mean, why does he even want to be Fuhrer anymore? He's doing all right running the country from the back seat, and it doesn't look like any of the brass can tell."

     "Nii-san, I don't think that's quite what he's doing." Goodness knew, he'd seen quite a bit of the country's day to day procedure that never crossed the Brigadier's desk even once. He was hardly acting out the Fuhrer's role from the shadows.

     "C'mon, Al," he shot back. "He's certain someone on the council is trying to overthrow the new system, and is he even whispering that to someone in charge? No. He's just doing what he always does. Don't tell anyone anything. Don't trust anyone, least of all the people you're trying to protect. Make it all better and hand the brass the culprit in a collar, with a tag that says '_Courtesy of Roy Mustang_'! How are we living in a democracy when you've got a guy running the show who's not just not elected, he's not even using the elected people as puppets?"

     "But if there's a conspiracy in the military to overthrow the government, and he's in charge of Internal Security..." He paused to think while his brother scowled and pushed the papers he'd been working with off to the far edge of the table. "Nii-san, I think that might be his job."

     "I know," he grumbled as he pulled his lab notes closer. His brother was the only person he knew who would use complex mathematics to relax when he needed to clear his head.

     Not that it seemed to be helping tonight. After scribbling half a page, his twisted frown still hadn't settled into a calmer line, and his shoulders still looked hunched and tight.

     "Nii-san, there's not something else bothering you, is there?"

     "No. Why?" His brother crossed out everything on the sheet he'd just written, crumpled it up, and threw it hard at the ground.

     "You seem more tense than usual."

     "The only thing bothering me is the damn Colonel," he said, "And I don't want to talk about it."

     While he tried to think of a response, Ella jumped up on his lap to start grooming himself; Nii-san must have been quite absorbed in his mathematics not to notice and say hello. Not so absorbed, however, that he failed to notice when Hijinx climbed onto the table and assumed a position to pounce on one of his pencils. His brother reached for the cat without taking his eyes off his paper and turned Hijinx 180 degrees around. The cat's eyes darted around the changed scenery, and he decided to pounce on the empty couch seat instead before he trotted away to find something else to play with.

     "These numbers just don't make sense," his brother sighed. "Even if it were a combination of factors..."

     Alphonse nodded quietly, ready to change topics if that was what his brother wanted. Antagonizing him certainly wouldn't help if he'd had a bad day. He waited for his brother to stop writing again before he broke in with the questions he'd been considering this afternoon after it had become clear that the watch wasn't doing anything simple. "So, Nii-san." Edward looked up and put his pencil to rest behind his ear. "If time is somehow different for each place, why couldn't our time -- from here -- have gone there with you? It's possible, right?"

     Nii-san shrugged. "Sure, it's possible, I guess. In a way, everything that moves operates in its own frame of..." His voice trailed off and his eyes unfocused. "_Fuck_." Without another word, he grabbed a table of numbers he'd taken down in his experiment and started scribbling on a new piece of paper even faster than before.

     From where he was sitting, Alphonse could see a large number of letters that looked like old Cretan and a series of square roots flying off his brother's pencil point. "Did you get something?" he asked.

     "_Time dilation_," he answered, still madly writing away. "I feel like such a moron. The answer was staring me in the face the whole time. Just based on the difference between Earth and here, we'd be looking at-- Well, that can't be right. Why wouldn't I have felt something like that?" He held up the paper for Alphonse to see. "155,292,493 meters per second. That's more than half the speed of light. Don't you think I would have noticed that kind of force?"

     "Nii-san, you're going to have to explain what you're talking about before I can have an opinion on it."

     He frowned at the mathematics work written on his paper. "Oh, right. Umm. This is kind of weird, okay?"

     "Is it more or less weird than you traveling back by magnet?" Alphonse simply refused to be concerned about implications of 'weirdness' after all he'd come to understand about Earth science so far.

     His brother looked up from the sketch of a train he was drawing on the table to ask, "How was the magnet weird?"

     Which Alphonse had no intention of trying to explain to his brother _again_. Honestly, he was surprised to hear Edward describe anything in his calculations as 'weird'. For the most part, he couldn't distinguish properly between things that he understood and things that were evidently sensible.

     As a few more lines went down on the train track, Nii-san said, "See, this was kind of a side discovery from experiments on how light works. If this train were moving at close to the speed of light, someone standing by the tracks watching it would see that a clock on the train would run slower than his watch. That's time dilation. The faster you're going, the more exaggerated the effect."

     More weird than the magnet, then. He was going to want some proof of that when they were finished with the point his brother was trying to make.

     "If that's the case," Alphonse said, "It seems like the system contradicts itself. Someone who's riding the train sees the world outside as being in motion, not the train inside. Why wouldn't he see the clocks outside running slow?"

     "That's a feature, actually. Two frames in motion relative to each other, time looks like it's slowing down from both perspectives. But when you've got a system where one man gets on the train, rides at near light speed for awhile, then stops, the fact is that significantly less time passes for the traveler than for the people outside. The same thing happens if you mess with gravity, too. Higher gravity means slower time, so it might be that the traveler in the high-speed example is affected by acceleration increasing the force of gravity operating on him. I'm not sure."

     "Uh-huh." The illustration Nii-san had drawn of himself clinging the top of the railcar, with his coat flying out behind his stick-figure legs and massive arrows labeled 'G' pointing down from above didn't do much to clarify the science behind this time dilation effect, but certainly reconfirmed Alphonse's suspicions about how his brother preferred to ride trains. He pointed to the illustration and said, "So this would be us, here in Amestris, somehow 'moving' faster than your Earth, at a difference of half the speed of light, and the Earth would be represented by someone outside the train?"

     "Or we'd be sitting in a gravity well that you'd need to go more than half the speed of light to escape," his brother replied with a shrug.

     Alphonse sat back in his chair while he thought about all that. As the cat curled up in his lap settled down to sleep, he sighed. "Yes, I rather think you should have noticed something like that." Even if a few missing minutes every hour was something his brother might not have questioned, that level of gravity (or acceleration) sounded like a crushing force. Every new theory coming out of Edward's mouth was making him more and more glad to have his brother home again -- before he'd gotten himself permanently damaged. "But you're saying you can conclude that it's true based on the data from the watch?"

     "Well, to be more specific..." He crossed out the figure of himself clinging to the railcar and replaced it with one running backwards across the length of the train. Just when Alphonse had thought this couldn't get any more dangerous. "The variance in the time change that I saw and the one the watch is showing means that probably I was creating a third system, moving relatively to both places." Nii-san scowled at the drawing again. "That better not mean that a lot less time passed for me personally. If I'm still sixteen, I am going to _punch_ someone."

     Of course _that_ was Nii-san's major concern -- the ridiculous one. It might be easy to overlook a slight speed increase in the passage of time equating to nine minutes missing from each hour, but for his brother to still be sixteen the ratio would have to be closer to one Earth hour passing in what must have felt like six and a half minutes. Every hour. For seven years. That was just silly. And the whole question assumed there was any way to perceive and interact with the other world while this was going on, which Alphonse found less than obvious. When Nii-san got back from the North, he hoped they'd have some time to go over the details properly.

     His brother must have been shifting in his seat more than usual, because the big cat sleeping on his knee looked up at the threat of violence and eyed him suspiciously. Nii-san stared right back and answered the cat's glare with a surly, "Well, I wouldn't punch _you_." That was apparently satisfactory, as Boots laid back down to rest. "I'll probably just hit Roy. He's always asking for it. I mean, what the hell did he think he was _doing_, anyway?!"

     It would seem they were talking about Brigadier General Mustang again. So much for a change of topic.

     Sitting up with his back extra straight and his chest puffed out, Nii-san waved his hands around his head in his usual 'Idiot Colonel' pose. "I'd be happy to provide you some _assistance_, Fullmetal," he said. "An officer needs to be able to handle a relationship, you know!" His brother threw his pencil at the table and collapsed back into the couch. "Like I care about dating. Stupid _Roy_."

     So his brother had started to get _that_ line from the Brigadier? He'd heard from Havoc and the others that Mustang-san had strong feelings on the subject, though within a week of when he'd come home was a bit soon to start picking on him for not having a girlfriend. It had been a busy week, too. Busy enough to put his brother extremely on edge, it would seem, because normally he'd brush off a comment like that and forget it in an hour. Still, it did seem that the Brigadier thought dating was important for an officer's mental health. "Nii-san, I'm sure Mustang-san was just showing a genuine interest." He smiled at the dark scowl Edward was shooting into the empty air between the couch and the bookshelf. "You know he--"

     "What, he '_cares_' about me?" His brother dropped all his paperwork back on the table and plunked his right foot beside it. "If you're talking about the way he checks me out all the time, that doesn't mean anything. Roy'll screw anyone with legs. That's just the way he is."

     Alphonse was somewhat grateful that his brother was looking away in the midst of his sour mood, because it took him a moment to get the surprise off of his face. That... definitely wasn't the kind of 'interest' he'd been expecting from the Brigadier. Roy Mustang had been 'checking out' his brother? And Edward hadn't beaten him into the floor with his own chair? Well, maybe Captain Hawkeye or Captain Havoc had held him back. Although, obviously he couldn't allow someone -- even a friend who was usually a gentleman -- to bother Nii-san with unwelcome advances. That would have to stop. Especially when, as Alphonse knew from all the stories and as Edward seemed to be aware, he had quite a reputation for not taking relationships seriously.

     "_Never gonna happen_," Nii-san insisted, muttering as he rubbed his eyes. This wasn't his angry voice, Alphonse couldn't help noticing. He didn't sound particularly tired, either. Just sullen. "I don't know who'd want to date that bastard anyway. Not me, that's for sure. He'd just move on to someone else three days later, and if there's one thing I won't be, it's messed around with."

     _Oh_, Alphonse thought. _So that's it. I should have realized sooner._

     He'd probably want to see for himself what was going on in Roy Mustang's office. If his brother's heart were being toyed with by the Brigadier, he wasn't inclined to take it lightly. Edward wasn't currently behaving as if he planned to settle the situation, and he couldn't exactly sit around and watch his brother pine after a superior officer who had a habit of running through girlfriends like water. Nor could he put absolute faith in Edward's judgment of Mustang's behavior, since his brother was an exceedingly biased observer and prone to embellishment. Clearly, he needed to take some kind of action to ensure that his older brother wasn't being in any way an idiot.

     "What is it?" Edward asked. He'd stopped looking depressed long enough to turn back and notice Alphonse was staring at him. "What's that look for?"

     Alphonse smiled. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

     He'd get all this sorted out tomorrow.

 

~//~

 

     "I'm leaving for lunch," Edward announced to the room at large, then turned to glare at Roy. "Don't try to stop me."

     "Wouldn't dream of it," the Brigadier replied. Hawkeye narrowed her eyes at him and watched carefully. He waited to look up from his paperwork until Edward had turned for the door, taking one of his now accustomed admiring gazes at his departing subordinate. Business was proceeding as had become quite usual in the office.

     From what Breda had told her yesterday, it sounded like Edward had begun to lose patience. That had taken longer than she'd expected, but she was more surprised at Roy. Usually, he'd have let go by now, but the only changes in Roy's behavior were that he held his examinations until the other alchemist wasn't watching and didn't look nearly as happy about his situation. It wasn't like him, to tell the truth, and he wasn't going to make any of their lives easier by developing this sort of lingering interest in the appearance of Edward's rear end in leather pants.

     "Huh," Alphonse said quietly as the door slammed shut. A certain Brigadier didn't seem to hear him, dutifully swamped in paperwork once again. Hawkeye turned to see the younger Elric watching Roy instead of looking at the notebooks he said he'd come here to study -- though what all of the Brigadier General's research notes from the last fifteen years had to do with anything Alphonse was working on, she couldn't imagine. "Nii-san's right," the boy went on. He turned to her with mildly surprised expression. "The Brigadier really does stare at him all the time. I thought I was going to need to watch longer than that to be sure, but it's really obvious, isn't it? Although he's wrong to think he's being toyed with. That's a relief."

     Hawkeye was sure of exactly one thing at that moment. She had to get Alphonse out Roy's main office and out of potential earshot. "Would you mind stepping outside for a moment?" she asked, just as quietly as Alphonse's previous statements in the hope that Roy wouldn't get too suspicious. The younger Elric nodded and followed her to the outer office, where Havoc and the others were lounging at their desks, variously reading the newspaper, filling out mission reports, or working out little toy logic puzzles.

     "What's up?" Havoc asked Alphonse. "You find what you were looking for?"

     "I think so," the young man replied with a smile. "I'm quite certain that Nii-san and Brigadier General Mustang are both completely smitten with each other."

     Havoc immediately sprayed a mouthful of coffee over his desk. "Excuse me, you said what?"

     No one answered. Hawkeye, for one, certainly hadn't noticed Edward being 'smitten'.

     Alphonse sighed. "It's too bad they probably won't figure that out if we leave them to themselves. I would imagine it'll be a big headache for everyone."

     "You said Edward thinks he's being _toyed with_?" she asked.

     "Of course he does. I only wish he'd believe anything I could say to explain that the Brigadier is serious about him."

     "I repeat," Havoc said, raising his hand. "_What?!_"

     Falman set his puzzle aside and rubbed his chin. "Are you sure? After yesterday, I wouldn't have thought... That is, I know he still has a habit of looking at Edward's legs, but--"

     "His legs?" Hawkeye asked. "Not..."

     She let the point drop as all the other officers in the room looked at her with complete confusion. As certain as she'd been that it had been the blond's posterior under examination, they all seemed to be in perfect agreement with Falman's assertion that it was definitely his legs, and the argument wasn't worth pursuing.

     "Alphonse," she said instead, "I'm not one to involve myself in Brigadier General Mustang's affairs, and I'm generally not called to. But contrary to his own opinion, he can make mistakes, and if he's made a mistake with Edward, I think we all know the office could suffer for it. You're absolutely certain?"

     The younger Elric's eyes went wide and he nodded slowly. "More than certain. He's a _terrible_ liar."

     Well, if anyone would know, it would be Alphonse. Hearing his opinion was almost better than getting a confession from Edward himself. That was more than enough to tell Roy to stop being an idiot. "You said you came to find out if he's got a serious attachment to your brother. I assure you, he does. If you were at all worried that Roy was toying with him, don't be."

     As Alphonse nodded again, faster this time, the door swung open and an entirely different blond rushed in. "What's this about someone with a '_serious attachment_' to Ed?" Winry blew past the officers' work tables with her portable repair case and left a storm of flying papers in her wake. She was practically bouncing when she got to the edge of Hawkeye's desk, with a starry-eyed smile that barely fit on her face. "He didn't say anything about a boyfriend!" She dropped her case on the floor and turned back and forth between Hawkeye and Alphonse. "Oh, who, who, who, _who_!?"

     "Ah... well..." Alphonse nodded toward the closed door to Roy's inner office.

     The girl's jaw dropped immediately. "Oh my god, you cannot be serious. Mustang?! You know, if he's putting one over on Ed, I've got a wrench with his name on it."

     "He's not," Hawkeye said, and pulled out Roy's schedule for the evening. Nothing planned. Excellent.

     "Ugh, Ed never tells me anything! Riza, when did this _happen_?"

     "In approximately one minute," she answered. When Hawkeye looked up, the young mechanic was giving her a puzzled look. She picked up her pen and wrote in 'Dinner with Edward' on the seven o'clock line Roy's schedule as she clarified, "I just need to inform the Brigadier General."

     Hawkeye tucked the revised schedule under her arm and opened the door to the inner office. Roy looked up with perfect calm. "That looked like some excitement earlier. Anything I should be aware of?"

     "Yes." When she handed him the planner, the corner of his mouth pulled into a confused frown. "There's been an update to your schedule for the evening. You'll be taking Edward on a date."

     He set the paper aside and returned to the report he'd been reading earlier. "I thought you were against that."

     "With all due respect, sir, I'm against you making a fool out of yourself and wasting everyone's time. I have it on excellent authority that your interest in Edward is a mutual one."

     "Whereas I have it from another generally reliable source that it is not," Roy countered. Assumably, that would be Edward's outburst yesterday. Given the content of most of Edward's outbursts, Hawkeye would have expected him to take a bit more stock in her new information.

     "My source is unquestionable," she reiterated.

     "So that's what Alphonse had to say, hmm?" He studied the paper and looked out into the room of waiting officers (and mechanic). Clearly he was unconvinced. "Well, it's unfortunate, really, but his judgement in this case--"

     "_Oh, when I find that bastard..._"

     A growl that was unmistakably Edward's echoed from the hallway and through the outer door. "I think this will be a fairly easy question to settle," Roy said, and put all his work aside with a distinctly unamused expression.

     The outside door slammed open, stomping footsteps echoing through the whole office. "Hi, Winry. Just a sec. I have find the Colonel and kill him." He stormed through the open door into the inner office without bothering to take off his coat. "You!" Hawkeye turned around to see Edward pointing at Roy. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

     "Would you mind clarifying the question, Fullmetal?"

     "That chick, Katya, the intern." Edward slammed his hands down and arched over the desk to get as close to Roy's face as possible before he yelled, "I want to know what you did!"

     "I take it something happened while you were out?"

     The blond alchemist pointed back toward the hallway. "She was waiting for me. She brought me lunch! _Homemade lunch_, Roy. I'm not an idiot. I know what it means when a girl slaps heart-shaped decorations all over rice. _You_ did something. What was it, and how do I make it stop?"

     "All I did was give you instructions." Roy settled back in his chair, seeming as cool as ever. "And I must say I'm impressed. I expected to have to send you in to flirt with her at least three more times before she started seeking you out."

     For the mission's sake, he was lucky the younger alchemist seemed more appalled than angry, though the shock on Edward's face made Hawkeye want to hit Roy herself. He hadn't indicated in the notes on Marshal Levochkin's office that he'd decided to send the blond in to entice someone, and it would seem he hadn't told his operative either. He had to have known Edward wouldn't be happy about it, and should have considered the risks to the mission even if he was determined to make an ass of himself. Exploding into a shouting match about the details of covert operations was the last thing they needed.

     A certain Brigadier was overcompensating, even though he knew better than anyone what a delicate position they were in. For the first time in a long time, she was going to have to remind Roy that he needed to keep his emotions a bit further away from his work. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to recall that an Elric had usually been involved whenever he lost sight of that.

     "You made me _flirt_ with her?" the blond hissed.

     Roy's expression didn't even twitch. "Well, you could hardly be expected to manage it on your own. Now," he went on, and sat forward in his chair as he switched to a fake smile. "I assume you'll be eating dinner tonight. If you've any interest in joining me, we could make a romantic evening of it."

     _Oh, for pity's sake, Roy..._

     "What the hell is your problem?!" Edward looked like he might throttle Roy at any moment. Hawkeye sighed quietly. Roy had asked for that one. "I don't want to hear anything from you except how I'm supposed to make her go away before she gets the wrong idea, _got it_?!"

     "So that's a no to dinner then?" He drew two decisive lines through the addition Hawkeye had made to his schedule. "How unfortunate. But I'm glad to hear the young lady is still fond of you after an entire luncheon spent without my guidance. That's better than I could have hoped."

     "You are fucking unbelievable. _I want out_."

     Most men might have kept the safety of their desks between themselves and a short-tempered, battle-trained alchemist who looked about one push away from redecorating the office with a cyclone. Roy Mustang preferred to walk around front and meet the cyclone head-on, whispering into the eye of the storm. "I shouldn't have to explain why that's impossible, Fullmetal. You're her point of connection, and if she's taken with you, you're no longer replaceable. You persuaded me that you were the bait we needed, and the fact that you were right is all the reason I need to keep you on the job."

     "If you think I'm going to do anything to make her think I'm interested," Edward grumbled back as he jabbed Roy in the chest, "You've got another thing coming. No dates. No kissing. No _nothing_. You can't make me."

     "Well, I'd hate to think that any one of my officers would take advantage of a young girl's fancy in that way. Clearly, you're the perfect choice."

     "You're _going_ to tell me how to make her go away."

     "If that was all that mattered, I'm sure you could manage."

     Naturally, the blond couldn't keep his volume down for long while Roy was provoking him. "Maybe, unlike some people, I'm not a jackass!"

     The Brigadier answered by walking back to his seat. "I believe your mechanic arrived, Fullmetal. Why don't you see about getting that arm and leg changed?"

     "This isn't over," Edward shot back, pointing a finger in Roy's face before stalking off. "I hate you!"

     He slammed the door behind him, and even though Roy was doing his best impression of going back to his work without any concern, she could read the strain in his expression. "If it bothers you to send him out on a mission like that, then that's one more reason you shouldn't have done it, sir."

     He swallowed hard, keeping his attention on his work instead of looking up at her. "I don't know what you're talking about." He handed back his schedule with a purposeful calm. "Pity about your change of plans."

     "Anyone would turn you down if you ask like that. Knowing you, if you put an ounce of effort into it, he'd probably _still_\--"

     The Brigadier cut her off with a look. She knew she'd said too much.

     "I have no interest in _seducing_ Edward," he told her. He sounded agitated but got himself under control, hand clenched on the desk. When he spoke next, he'd regained his air of calm. "How much effort it would take to do so is immaterial. It's not what I want." He looked up with a false smile. "Besides, he has a girlfriend now. I think the matter is closed."

     "For the record, sir, you need to get your head screwed on straight where Edward Elric is concerned or you'll have more to worry about than a lack of dinner plans."

     He went back to doing his paperwork. "I appreciate the sentiment, Captain, but I think I can handle myself."

     Bang up job he'd done so far.

     "Of course," she replied, and turned to leave.

     Hawkeye opened the door just a crack at first to give all the officers who had their ears pressed to it a chance to back off without falling over. Everyone still in the room -- Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery, and Alphonse -- stood facing her at attention. Lucky for Roy, he had a well-trained staff with a fair level of autonomy over what ridiculous camouflage operations they pursued to disguise their covert missions. Besides, a bit of pain would be good for him.

     "Gentlemen, we have a new objective. Roy Mustang and Edward Elric have engaged themselves in a situation that neither one has the good sense to resolve. That means it's up to us. We'll start brainstorming now."

     Havoc was the first to raise his hand. "Can I just get one thing straight?" When she nodded, he pointed at the closed door to Roy's inner office and asked, "Edward, _who is gay_, has a girlfriend he doesn't want because Brigadier General Mustang tricked him into dating her, and now Mustang's saying Edward is off limits because _he'd be stealing him from the girl_?"

     Hawkeye back over her shoulder to consider the matter, then back at Havoc. "Yes," she said at last.

     "I hope the Brigadier's ready," said the captain, who, if she recalled properly, had lost (on average) five girlfriends to Roy Mustang per year for the last ten years. Havoc straightened his jacket and put on his serious face. Nodding at Hawkeye, he said, "Payback's gonna be a freakin' _bitch_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "The Gathering of the Nations" is Chapter 11 in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's novel, The Great Shadow. Next chapter: "Going Aboard" (due late December or early January).
> 
> 2) Codes and Spying
> 
> FMA contains almost no cryptography. My beta reader has duly told me that I'm a total geek for bringing this up, but I'm a proud geek, and I love codes. The concealed messages in the series are usually forms of steganography: stealth rather than encryption. To see an example of what Edward is practicing, see the full note on [my LiveJournal](http://psiten.livejournal.com/42820.html).
> 
> Espionage vocabulary: The basic process Roy et al. are using to reveal their enemies is a form of canary trap. Plant identifiable information and watch for your troublemaker to use it, in its simplest form. For the most part, Roy's subordinates are just performing surveillance while pretending to have other business. Sometimes, however, one needs an insider to bring information to you – a spy. The operative who makes this contact, as Edward is sent to do with Katya, is an "access agent". When that agent is to seduce someone into spying, you have a honeypot operation. At least in KGB parlance, that makes Edward a "raven". A woman sent to seduce someone, as Lust went after Havoc in the manga, is a "sparrow". Also, Roy is absolutely full of baloney when he says that he would be against an operative behaving as if a honeypot operation were a real relationship. That's kind of the point. He's just jealous, I think. However, the intention of this particular scheme is to put Edward in a position to hear office talk, not to compromise the young lady in any way.
> 
> 4) Special and General Relativity
> 
> Given the amount of pseudoscientific nonsense I've put into previous chapters, I feel compelled to note that everything Edward explained about time dilation is true.
> 
> For example: Scientists have noted for as long as man has been dropping things that if you let go a heavy object and a light object from the same height, you will observe them accelerate toward the ground at the same rate (resistance from the air and buoyancy aside, of course). What scientists could not say until more recently is that, if you drop an accelerometer, your gadget will measure no acceleration at all. The hell, you say. But that's general relativity. In areas of higher gravity, time runs more slowly. Anything you drop is subject only to inertial motion, not acceleration, and if it appears to speed up from the perspective of the observer, it does so because of time dilation effects as it approaches the stronger gravity near the ground. For the same reason, a clock will run marginally faster in the mountains than at sea level – you know, 22 nanoseconds to the hour, or something like that. As you get even further away from the Earth's pull, you reach our GPS satellite network, which functions based on clocks that must continually be corrected because time is just faster up there. Isn't that neat? I won't get into length contraction at the moment, or simultaneity, but this stuff is like magic. The universe will never be the same again.
> 
> The special theory of relativity is what Edward explains to Alphonse (easy mnemonic: gravity = general, speed = special), and it predates the general theory by a decade or three. I usually prefer it for demonstrations and for calculations, as lightspeed trains and people running with ladders are easier to visualize than gravity wells. This whole scenario is built on the model of the twin paradox, which theorizes one twin who stays on Earth for decades while another flies at near light speed for just a year or two. For all the math to make Edward's timeline work (as well as a diagram), again, the full note is on [my LJ](http://psiten.livejournal.com/42820.html).
> 
> But in the end, a bunch of math and a few clocks running fast never made me appreciate relativity the way I do now, because it's near impossible to feel what's happening when you posit that a train is moving at 0.518c and crunch a few numbers. So, I'll leave you with a quote from Einstein himself, the man who managed to make special relativity work the way we use it today (without the aether), and who went on to formulate the general theory for gravitational fields:
> 
> "A man sits with a pretty girl for an hour, it seems like a minute. He sits on a hot stove for a minute, it's longer than any hour. That is relativity."


	5. Going Aboard

[_Departure minus 14:05 hours_]

     Invasion or no invasion, if Winry could have her way, Ed and Mustang wouldn't be allowed to leave for another week or more, since she'd had to replace the mediator sockets entirely to accommodate a trip up North. Removing every single scrap of steel from the limb jointures and fitting in carbon-reinforced fibers to insulate against the cold was going to cause severe inflammation in the surrounding tissue -- not to mention the possibility that he'd reject the implants, or have an allergic reaction, God forbid. He'd never shown any allergies to her materials before, but it could happen. In any case, he'd need some recovery time before his new joints were securely healed together and he could, like, you know... _walk or shrug_ without nasty stabbing pain. Most people who got full joint replacements needed three days before they could think about going back to work, and _they_ weren't tromping off to the far, frozen reaches to take on an entire invading army!!

     Yeah, Ed had told her they were just sneaking in to do some repairs. _Whatever._ He wouldn't come back until he'd knocked every Drachman soldier's head into a wall and left them in a giant pile with a red flag on top. She'd met him.

     Likewise she knew she'd be wasting her breath telling him to wait a week. He'd run off just as soon as he could stand, and Mustang would be right there asking what took him so long.

     "I swear, Ed, you have _the worst_ taste in men."

     "I don't need you to tell me that," he mumbled back, fingers on his left hand squeezing the edge of the research-bench-come-operating-table they'd found in an empty room. All those years without proper maintenance, outgrowing his steel fittings, and he'd still pushed through the most invasive bits of the surgery without a scream. Now that they were down to the fine-tuning before she fitted the casings, he shouldn't have been feeling a thing.

     She shook her head and sighed. "If you want my advice--"

     "I don't."

     "Too bad. 'Cause knowing what an idiot you are, you're not gonna get over him. Just go out with him and see, before Al and Riza and everybody try to play matchmaker."

     "I'm not fucking dating that bastard."

     "Fine with me. He doesn't deserve you, anyway."

     And he didn't. Even if _maybe_ he was the only one who ever could. After everything she'd seen and heard, there were just two things she thought about Roy Mustang: having been a murderer couldn't change the fact that he was a good person; and knowing that he was a good person didn't make him not a murderer. As long as he was doing all he could to keep Ed and Al away from the same contradiction, she wouldn't fight either of her boys for wanting to be with him, or with the military, but that was it. "If your mind's made up, relax your back for a second so I can see if these bolts are too tight."

     He opened up his hand and exhaled slowly, and the ridges of muscle across his spine and shoulder blades went slack.

     "Much better." A half dozen turns of the screwdriver that her hands still remembered perfectly -- always would, no matter how much time passed -- and all the fine adjustments were done. "Okay, after I switch on the nerve relays, I'll close the casing. Then try to stay lying down for at least an hour?" Ed nodded his head against the table with a silent grimace. "On three."

     "One--"

     Winry pushed the connections into place on Ed's arm and leg before he could reach 'three' and tense up, then screwed the bolts together while he was still gasping from the shock. "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

     In between scowling and grumbling, he shrugged his shoulders against the table. The pain still made him wince, but this time when he gasped, it was surprise. "What'd you _do_ to this thing? It's..." Edward rolled up to a seated position (ignoring his mechanic's orders already) and moved the new arm and leg up and down a few times -- as much as he could stand. "It's light. Like it's not even there."

     "Yeah, welcome to, 'It's not made of metal, so you don't die in the snow,' Ed. I explained this already."

     "_Bad ass_."

     "Now lie back down so I can put on the casing? Unless you _want_ your new arm getting cut to shreds by the first guy you fight."

     "Huh. I didn't think of that." And obedient as you please, he set himself back down and stretched out his arm.

     "Aren't you lucky your beautiful, genius automail mechanic has been watching the damage you get long enough to know you block everything with that arm? But normal metal gets brittle and freezes in a subzero climate, so..." Winry slid the first section of 'armor' onto his forearm with a grin. "Voila! 18% chrome, 8% nickel, ultra-thin steel alloy, bonded to the same fiber the rest is made of. Only adds a quarter-pound to the weight, insulation keeps it from sticking and _you_ from freezing, and it'll still block a bullet at 400 degrees below zero. Am I not awesome?"

     He grunted. That sounded enough like a 'Yes' for government work. She'd forgive him for not agreeing vociferously and effusively, without any hesitation, because his entire nervous system probably still felt like it was on fire.

     "Now Ed, this kind of arm isn't as indestructible as you're used to, so watch that you don't knock it around like a maniac," she added, fixing the articulated plates to the surface.

     He made another indistinctly affirmative grunt against the table. In the language of Edward Elric, that meant, "I never _try_ to bust up the limbs you put your heart and soul into building for me."

     "Remember, the alloys and structure are both on a _very delicate balance_. I don't want to hear about you transmuting it and adjusting the ratios or the elements or whatever. In that climate, it's suicide. So, if you do that and somehow come back alive, I will kill you myself."

     No response but silence, but she'd have to assume he heard her. Nagging always ended in him doing what she didn't want just to prove he could.

~//~

     However much she liked him, and however brilliant he was with matters of alchemy, the man's utter inability to think practically often made her feel like she was babysitting a toddler.

     "This is an all-weather flint striker, Brigadier General," Hawkeye repeated, and put the box into his pack herself. "Two seconds after you start fighting in snow, your gloves will be soaked. _That means they will be useless_. You'll want to keep an alternative handy at all times."

     "I don't know what I'd do without you, Captain."

     He only said it because there was no one around to hear, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same. It gave her hope that he might have the sense to survive whatever mess he and their own Fullmetal Whirlwind would inevitably stir up. "Instead of thinking about that, you should consider how to make peace with Edward-kun. Everyone here is depending on both of you to come back intact, Havoc especially. He thinks playing Cupid for the two of you will serve as poetic justice for all the hearts you've stolen."

     "I stand falsely accused!" Roy laughed. "I stole neither of his last two girlfriends, and he didn't manage to keep them any longer than the others." As she kept her eyes on him, he breathed out a more serious, heavy sigh and studied the straps on his pack far more carefully than they demanded. "Edward has never stayed upset about the little things for long. It'll pass." His face may have looked calm, but he was actually thinking, and actually having a hard time.

     Good. At least he knew he cared.

     "Very well, sir. One last thing. Are you sure you won't reconsider taking blankets with you? Major General Armstrong is likely to laugh you out of Briggs if she thinks you've underestimated the mountains."

     Shaking his head with a frown, he answered, "If we could carry more weight, yes, but we can't. We have to move fast -- between radios and food, we're at our limit. Reports have the waystations decently provided for the weather, and they're within an easy day's hike of all cities. We'll make do."

     "May I remind the Brigadier General that relying on ordinary infrastructure within a snow-covered guerrilla war zone is beyond ill-advised and bordering on asinine? _Sir_."

     Roy zipped the last pocket shut on his bag with the sure hand of someone who wouldn't reconsider. "In the event of an emergency, I am quite competent to make a burrow in a snowbank, which I am in the unfortunate position to know provides surprisingly good insulation. Or, if you're worried we'll be captured, Captain," he scoffed, "I assure you, we're both far too valuable as hostages to let freeze."

     "Anyone unlucky enough to capture you or Edward-kun separately, let alone together, would regret it within five minutes, and by morning would have let you go to ensure their own preservation."

     Her commander picked up his pack and threw his heavy, winter coat over it -- haphazard by appearance, but neatly covering any trace of special equipment that might catch an enemy's eye. "I have no doubt, Captain. So you see? What could possibly be such a problem?"

~//~

[_Operation Elite -- Day 5, 17:08 hours_]

     The last waystation before the Tringham's research facility was a cramped, gray affair from the outside -- clearly no one's idea of a luxury spot. The inside, however, went beyond that. When Roy Mustang recalled his rash bravado of five days past, he assured himself that no one could have anticipated this. _No one_. Perhaps they were paying for the good fortune they'd had to find everything in order on the first four nights, or perhaps Fate was simply amusing herself. Either way, this place was well past problematic and quite distinctly in the realm of the ridiculous. Howling winds, blinding snows, a pile of firewood soaked beyond use thanks to a poorly chinked crack in the roof, piles of beams and sundry mess lying in unrecognizable pieces where there should have been cots...

     ... And only a single, pitifully threadbare blanket to be found. Their two-man adventuring party was stuck in a scene taken straight from one of the preposterous romance novels that Fuery tried to pretend weren't his.

     But there was never any use fretting over the trite humors of Fate. Roy drew the grey, dingy thing up to eye-level and threw his companion a smirk. "Well. As ranking officer, this should be mine by right, but I believe custom dictates that I offer to share."

     "You can have it. I don't need it."

     Still no bitterly sarcastic, '_Roy_', he thought with a sigh, nor any appellation whatsoever -- be it 'Colonel', 'General', or otherwise. For nearly a week, he'd simply been 'You' no matter how much he baited the normally volatile blond. If Fullmetal wanted to punish him for his mission to connect with the new intern, he'd found a more effective means than Roy intended to let on. The cold shoulder itself didn't bother him -- Edward Elric wouldn't let him pass so lightly if he thought Roy had, objectively, gone too far. It was the duration that concerned. Unpleasant orders had never earned him more than an hour of moody silence before. So, every morning, Roy listened to the blond grumble himself into wakefulness and brush out his hair in long strokes while ignoring that someone was sharing his cabin, and every morning he tried to figure out what he was missing -- unsuccessfully.

     He'd work out the puzzle eventually. In his own time, Fullmetal would explain everything he'd done wrong in an explosion of invectives, and most likely projectiles. Roy simply had to let Edward get his current stubborn mood out of his system.

     That said, he had no intention of allowing Edward to be as stubborn as he pleased if he was planning to do something as stupid and dangerous as sleeping without any blankets in sub-zero weather. However, if he were to insist on sharing, he'd have to be careful. Somehow, his socially oblivious cohort had developed an uncanny ability to detect the slightest innuendo, and he'd certainly made his displeasure known. He'd keep his hands to himself, of course -- he wasn't a cad -- but Fullmetal might not believe that. Goodness knew, he didn't trust himself to sound innocent. He'd had much more practice making innuendos than not.

     Pulling off his hat and tossing it on top of his pack, Edward finger-combed his hair out of the mess his braid had become over the hike. Up it went into an impertinent blond ponytail, bobbing over the bulky coat his companion couldn't remove in a building this ... well ventilated. Camping in the snows outside might be a better idea, Roy considered, but he did hate to interrupt Fullmetal when he was thinking. The molten intensity of his eyes was a sight he'd missed dearly for five years now. It complemented so well the scrunch of his nose and forehead when the young alchemist considered how the world presented itself and how best to transform it into the world he desired.

     Grinning happily, Roy made a mental note to remind Hawkeye that her concerns were completely unfounded as soon as he returned home. She'd been perfectly sensible, of course, but he didn't need to admit that -- because as fast as Roy could think, 'No, Fullmetal, _doesn't_ need to share the blanket, does he?" an assortment of detritus transformed with a clap and a flash of light, and the military was plus one quite spacious cherry-wood bed, flying a solid, arched roof on four tall posts. The whole thing was traced in gothic scrollwork and gilt detailing the likes of which he hadn't seen in far too long, and sporting red velvet drapes in addition to more than enough bedding to make their provided blanket redundant. He'd probably die laughing if he ever got to see the faces of soldiers who passed this way in years to come.

     "You're right, Fullmetal. That looks much more pleasant."

     One pillow from the mountain on the bed hit him in the face hard enough to hurt, despite being stuffed with feathers that smelled like the clover in sunlit fields particular to Resembool. He'd been there just often enough to recall. "Make your own bed!" the blond spat at him, stalking off toward the fireplace.

     Which would be a spectacular idea -- if he had memorized any arrays for transmuting beds. He could improvise quite a few things, but he'd never given much study to furniture. Not all alchemists, alas, had the extraordinary intuition that Edward displayed with the least provocation, or that Alphonse had for that matter. The younger Elric's ability to design elegant arrays in seconds had been the talk of the Research department from the moment he'd walked through the door. Whether the skill was natural aptitude or training, Roy had no idea, but they both had it in a degree that boggled the mind.

     Though only Edward produced results quite this spectacular. Unmistakeably so, like the alchemist himself.

     Another flash turned the crack in the roof into a memory. The draft chilling the space vanished in an instant. The unsavory-looking woodpile underneath it, too, was fixed in more than image, as the bulk of the dank, hovering smell of the place freshened into something quite liveable. "Fire's on you," Edward said, refusing to do so much as look him in the eye. By mutual agreement, they'd foregone normal stealth protocols prohibiting cookfires. It was far too cold, and if they were beset by enemy forces on the road instead of at the Tringham's facility, they might spare the laboratory a few repairs. Unfortunately, the scouts they'd spotted had stayed too far back, and the bulk of the troops were out of sight. The attack would probably be soon after they arrived at the laboratory tomorrow, for better or for worse, with however many soldiers had been deemed appropriate for meeting a handful of State Alchemists.

     Many, no doubt, Roy thought with a sour twist in his lip. Many, and nowhere near enough. He stacked a few logs on the hearth as he considered the coming fight. His gloves had, alas, gotten damp even in his pockets. Tomorrow, he'd be sure to travel with them in an oilcloth. For now, with one click of the flintsteel, yellow-orange tongues of flame erupted crackling out of the pile. The scent of cured pine, combusting into a pure flame as tiny trails of white smoke curled up the chimney was infinitely better than the oily stench of burning hair and skin. But he wasn't going to take a life tomorrow. He'd find other choices, for himself and for Edward. No matter how many men came at them, that laboratory wouldn't become another bloodstained wasteland.

     Fire always seemed to stare back when those memories came to mind, and the burnt golds roiling over the crackling logs wouldn't let him blink. All he could do was breathe deep and turn away.

     The rest of their tiny stone bunker was dull and chilled except for the brilliant reds dressing his companion's new bedframe and the shock of yellow hair falling over a thick coat, and that was a much more pleasant brightness. Edward stood by the window, and his eyes tracked the snow that fell outside in spinning helices as if it were the first blizzard he'd ever seen, though Roy knew full well it wasn't. The young man had a way of looking at things that made him look twice at the world himself, and find some shadow of beauty in a too-often graceless world.

     It wasn't fair, Roy knew, to ask someone else to be the wellspring of so many of his hopes and dreams. But life wasn't fair. And he hadn't asked.

     Roy wandered over to the window, leaning against the frame as the blond traced lines in the fog of his breath on the glass. As he looked closer, he saw the other alchemist had managed his doodle with precision that would have made a newspaper cartoonist die of envy. One of the sketched figures was clearly Edward, looking very pleased, standing near his brother, the Rockbell girl, sundry others. He had to assume the smug-nosed gentleman shooting fire from his fingertips was himself. And, scrawled near Fullmetal's self-portait were the words, '_Didja miss me?_'

     Before long, the flesh and blood Fullmetal scowled up at him. "Are you just gonna stand there or what?"

     "Yes," Roy answered. "Very much so."

     Although he shouldn't have needed to ask.

     "I guess it's my turn to cook dinner anyway." Wiping away the sketch quickly, Edward pushed away from the windowframe and strode over to the fireplace. And just once, when he glanced over to check on the progress of the meal, he caught the other alchemist looking back.

     Maybe tomorrow, he'd have a name again. At the very least, Fullmetal might find it confusing to call him nothing but 'You' after they met with the Tringham brothers in the morning -- and then, presumably, the uncounted legions of Drachman soldiers. If nothing else, the visit would give Edward the chance to demonstrate what he meant by saying he'd turn the mountain laboratory into the biggest radio receiver anyone had ever seen, and an opportunity to impress everyone always put the blond in a better mood. If everything went according to plan, it might not be such a bad visit after all.

~//~

[_Operation Parliament -- Day 6, 09:22 hours_]

     That his brother had left him in charge of reporting _something_ to Captain Hawkeye, Alphonse had understood. He had a clear picture from Nii-san's grumblings and bellows that the principal problem Brigadier General Mustang's team was trying to solve involved observing important people and then discussing them in code phrases so obscure that '_you'd have to be hanging from the ceiling by your toes trying to spell out Flamel's precepts backwards with a flaming ferret_' for them to make sense -- so Nii-san had said. But then, all he'd explained when Alphonse had asked for a basic idea of the system was, '_It's just that wink-wink, nudge-nudge stuff. You'll do fine_'.

     He chose to believe that Nii-san was showing a great deal of faith in his perception, not being lazy, because a coup that threatened the lives and safety of the nation's people was the sort of thing his brother cared about. He wasn't lazy about things that mattered. Quite the contrary. But in his first meeting with the conspiracy, Alphonse wasn't doing fine at all.

     "Maybe this would work!" 2nd Lieutenant Fuery called out, pointing to a line in a paperback novel. "We could put an extract of _Lagophylla ramosissima_ into Edward's water. It seems to be one of the strongest aphrodisiacs--"

     "In fiction." Captain Hawkeye pulled the book out of his hand and set it on the desk behind her. "Please make some effort to stay on topics that will be of use, Mr. Fuery."

     "Yes, Captain."

     The problem was that everyone else seemed to know what that meant. Or, at least, Alphonse presumed they did. Maybe the problem was that they had no idea how to handle his brother. The difference was less clear than he would have liked.

     On some level, he realized that all the discussions about what means to use to entrap Nii-san and the General in quasi-amorous scenarios were meant to provide a smokescreen for their more serious investigations, but he also knew the officers in question had a history of following through on any and all ridiculous schemes that crossed their paths. It was an effective diversionary tactic, certainly. No one in Central looked twice anymore when Captain Havoc set up impromptu lessons on photographic portraiture in the officers' mess or Lieutenant Breda showed up on the Fuhrer's own doorstep to deliver a Cretan progressive jazz band, so all the notes traded under countertops went unnoticed and all the people they wanted to observe were more off-guard than they should have been.

     Well, Nii-san wasn't likely to cooperate, so a bit of outlandishness could be forgiven, but the breadth of topics under consideration -- from signing them up for Major General Saulnier's football team to installing them with the medical corps in General Lancaster's experimental Air Force training program to things far too ridiculous to contemplate -- left Alphonse with no clue as to how these suggestions played into reporting sensitive information. He could very well implicate someone he hadn't meant to implicate, just with a stray word.

     Comparatively, determining which Generals were his responsibility to observe had been simple. All he'd needed to do was consider what were the most ostentatiously ridiculous things his brother had been doing recently, and whom they would have put him in a position to investigate. The 'girlfriend' was the most obvious. She'd be General Mustang's connection to Marshal Levochkin's office. Then, given the fact that Nii-san had somehow gotten permission to do his interdimensional watch experiment in the main Research laboratories, his own superior, Lieutenant General Bloch, was the next likely target. They, along with Lieutenant General Fieseler, formed the entire committee to investigate Nii-san's miraculous return home, so those three generals made sense as a set.

     If he needed any more confirmation, they were also the only three generals who hadn't yet been mentioned in a hare-brained scheme to strand two battle-ready alchemists in a mythological camp presumed to be part of a lost cliff-dwelling civilization. Everyone had really liked that idea for some reason.

     Now if only he knew what he was supposed to be reporting on them, and how to phrase it in the form of a romantic rendezvous. Alphonse simply couldn't recommend such ideas as Colonel Armstrong's intention to assign his brother and Roy Mustang as bodyguards to a young, foreign nobleman whose father was a coal-researching dilettante for the upcoming parade that (he expected) would be a target for nomadic Hanshi gypsy-pirates (whom Alphonse couldn't believe were real) set on ending deforestation in the West. Maybe that would serve to bring the two of them together somehow, but no more so than bonding over any other mission. Their present mission, for example, was far more intimate. If he were going to make a serious suggestion for how to make his brother admit that he was in love with the General (which was the real problem), it would have to have more chance of success than _that_.

     "Can we lock them in a closet, maybe?" Captain Havoc asked, flicking another dart at the list labeled "How to Set Up Ed with General Mustang" that he'd already sufficiently pinned to the dartboard. "Or an elevator? Sparks are bound to fly eventually."

     Lieutenant Breda shook his head and laughed. "Probably the wrong kind of sparks."

     Alphonse decided to hold off on reminding them until they sounded more committed that it was also completely foolish to think any closet could hold Nii-san.

~//~

[_Operation Elite -- Day 6, 11:24 hours_]

     The unexpected door slam and the deafening clatter jolted Russell Tringham out of his sprint down the hallway. _Elric_. He'd stopped following _again_. It was bad enough that, three minutes after their relief from Central had said hello, waves of soldiers in gray fur hoods had surged over every surrounding hilltop and opened fire. You'd think maybe artillery bearing down on the research station from all sides and potentially hundreds of soldiers searching the compound would convince even _Edward Elric_ to listen to him (as facility director) about which way to go. Apparently not.

     "Don't you get smart with me, you pompous ass-hound bastard!" Elric's voice echoed from inside one of the hallway closets, loud enough to drown out the cannon squads Fletcher was handling with his army of trees and vines outside. The officer was nowhere to be seen, either -- the man Elric had introduced as 'Colonel Jerkface' who'd turned out to be none other than _Roy "Holy shit, what do you mean you brought the actual Flame Alchemist?!" Mustang_ \-- but Russell could hear him laughing.

     The world was never going to believe that those two had just stumbled into a self-locking closet on their race from one explosive battle front to another. Russell barely believed it himself. Geniuses were _morons_.

     "I was merely pointing out, Edward, that what you call a shortcut, I call a dead end. Now, if you'll allow me--"

     "Like hell!"

     The closet door and most of the wall transformed in a flash into a massive trellised construction (that, luckily, didn't break into the roof or either of the rooms flanking it) -- effectively neutralizing whatever locks had been on the plain oak it'd replaced. A steamed Fullmetal Alchemist barrelled out at full speed before the embossed crownings had quite finished solidifying, skidding to a stop long enough to transmute a sign that read, "CLOSET!!" in bold, block letters.

     "All these damn doors look the same," he grumbled, kicking off straight into the next room.

     Personally, Russell didn't think the sign was strictly necessary to differentiate this one anymore. And he would have paid good money for Brigadier General Mustang to wipe that entirely inappropriate grin off his face just once when he was running after Elric from behind. He didn't need to see that! This was a shooting war, with what felt like half the Drachman army threatening to take out his research facility. As he tailed them both, he had to wonder -- was it too much to ask that all of the alchemists defending the compound apply their full concentration to the job instead of splitting it with Edward's (admittedly long-missed and possibly attractive if you liked that sort of thing, though he certainly didn't) physical attributes? Whatever radio receiver Elric and Mustang were going on about building had damn well better be the communications marvel of the millenium, because Russell knew one thing for sure:

     Over a thousand troops did not suddenly decide his outpost was worth leveling when they'd only rated ten soldiers a week for over a month now. That math didn't add up, and math was what he did best.

     Well, math and impressions.

     But these forces were clearly after the two alchemists from Central, so they'd be leaving his facility intact, or they wouldn't be leaving at all. He'd see to that, no matter how legendary the Fullmetal and Flame combi was.

     Surprising no one, Elric had dashed across the courtyard fastest, so by the time he and Mustang arrived his lab already looked like a surrealist's nightmare. Bullet-shot transmuted barriers where before there'd been linoleum, chalkboards stretching out into ornate cages, and he would insist on turning lab benches into cannons, no matter how often he asked the loon to stop that. "You're lucky I had all of that in my notebooks, Elric! I'll be damned if your little mission won't set us back six months!"

     "I'll put it back!" the other alchemist yelled, dodging a punch from the Drachman with whom he was currently engaged. "You were applying Lachmiller's theorems on absorption to the rainfall tables, right?"

     "That was a lucky guess!"

     As soon as they found an opening, the soldiers who weren't unconscious or caged up in reinforced slate ducked into the hallway, where they might have been able to break away if Mustang hadn't put a wall of fire between them and the exit. Handy, that, mostly in that it didn't destroy any of his lab equipment the way Elric did. Confusing in that it also managed not to set off his sprinkler system while it let that golden-eyed bastard start a fistfight with about six men at once (and twenty more waiting in the wings).

     And had he just turned all of their guns into bouquets of daffodils?

     He must have. Nothing else explained the flowers everywhere, confusing the men who used to have some very effective rifles.

     Mustang managed to get to Elric's back before Russell could, but no matter. They made a fine pair, knocking out enemy fighters like they were dancing. The unconscious bodies they left on the floor piled up so fast that he had to transmute vines from the lab into manacles to restrain them five and six at a time to catch up.

     None of which meant the quick invader in the back should have started at him with a knife, looking like he thought a hostage might help the situation. Russell knocked away the weapon in a blink, then put down the soldier with a crude but generally effective punch to the temple.

     "That was for my hydrovitrionic winch, you ass-hat!"

     About six seconds and another ten sets of manacles later, the dust cleared, the wall of fire came down, and their mad run down the hallways for more resumed.

     "So, that's sixty-four so far and about three hundred to go, right?"

     "Fullmetal, do try to hold off counting until the enemy are entirely contained."

     "Why? I can count and take them out at the same time." Then, as if he'd just noticed Russell running alongside, he cried out and pointed. "Ah! About the Lachmiller! You weren't accounting for the sublimation ratios. I think that... You know, I'll just write it up when I put your chalkboards back."

     Russell glared and shook his head. "You know, I hate you, Elric." Sublimation ratios. No, he hadn't brought that in, and if one went to look for additional ice formations it might theoretically account for the lack of running water, but how had he pulled that out of thin air when he'd been stuck on another damn world for five years?! And knowing him, he'd probably be right, too.

     As annoying as he was, it'd be damn useful if he could stay longer than a day or two. Besides, if Edward were up here, they might have a better shot at getting Alphonse to move up as well. Then they'd really make some progress.

     To be considered at a later time, Russell reminded himself. Right now, ducking for cover from another shower of bullets was more important.

[_Operation Elite -- Day 6, 13:10 hours_]

     Once alarms had stopped going off, traps had stopped exploding, and the three of them had finished scouring the compound, the more tedious work of corralling all the several hundred prisoners into an unused basement of the storehouse began. Those, along with everyone Fletcher had restrained at the compound borders, probably translated into enough soldiers to make Drachma think twice about continuing the invasion.

     He damn well _hoped_.

     As he walked down one of the rows checking their restraints, a craggy young man who looked like a squad captain regained consciousness and gawked at the sea of cowed prisoners. "Maybe," Russell quipped at him, "that'll teach you to take on four state alchemists at once, hmm? Not your finest strategy decision."

     Six yards to the right, Roy Mustang was examining the uniforms of every man they'd caught. "Edward, I believe we have a winner. Ah, Colonel, I presume this affair was yours to command?" Without a word, the foreign officer nodded and stood straight when Elric stepped over to take him by the elbow. Mustang directed him to a small room off to the side. "Ask him about the matters we discussed, if you'd be so kind, Edward? I'd like some answers before Major General Armstrong arrives to take our guests into custody."

     Now there was a name all the invading soldiers had learned to fear. In the time it took Elric to disappear behind the door and slam it shut, the crowd of prisoners had one and all stiffened up straight, even the ones who were so far off that they had to ask someone what Mustang had just said. The queen of the mountains was all the reason they needed to abandon any dignified yet wary attempts to get loose from his restraints (which they wouldn't manage -- one of the benefits of using living plants) in favor of more frantic alarm.

     And if Mustang wasn't loving every minute of it, he was putting on one hell of an show. "Nothing to fear, gentlemen. And ladies," he added, throwing a smooth smile at a few blushing regiments. "You'll all be well treated at Briggs. Now..." The Brigadier fell silent as he watched Fletcher lead in another few dozen men. Russell hadn't thought the grin on his face could get any wider, but somehow he managed. "Edward! It looks like there's a uniform small enough for you after all!"

     It was hard to put words to how much Russell wanted these two out of his life. Clearly, Central found the smarmy asshole's competence and the pint-sized firecracker's brilliance were worth putting up with their tomfoolery. As a scientist, he'd have to observe more results to make his own determination. The only thing he could say about it at present was that the whine of metal sliced through his gut like a hacksaw as Elric ripped the door of his interrogation room off its hinges.

     "_What did you just say?!_"

     Some things had changed over the past five years. Other things made Russell want to pull a bag over his head and never come out again, because Elric was beyond any doubt the same Fullmetal Alchemist whose identity he'd stolen in Xenotime.

     "Who are you calling so short no self-respecting invaders would have a uniform he could steal as a disguise, and couldn't manage to grow an inch even though he'd been stuck on the other side of a dimensional rift for five goddamn years, plus or minus two point three, you blue-bellied, rip-shanked jackass?!"

     "You, Fullmetal, and I've found you a hat."

     Soon, peace and quiet would be restored. Maybe he'd get to keep Elric, maybe he wouldn't, but either way, as long as Mustang wasn't around to piss him off, they'd be able to focus on reversing the water shortage once and for all. For now, he counted his blessings: one. Elric expressed his displeasure by stalking off instead of by becoming a living hurricane (again).

     The twisted sheet of metal that used to be a door slammed back into the frame, this time sans doorknob, thanks to the brute strength of that automail arm. Russell mentally added that to his list of property damage as he walked over to where Mustang was standing. "Permission to speak freely, Brigadier General Mustang?"

     No sense being rude when he was talking to the Flame Alchemist. Just because Edward Elric could get away with something didn't mean _he_ could. History had made that clear enough.

     "How may I help you, Major Tringham?" the General replied with an overtone of amusement that Russell chose to ignore.

     "If it's no trouble, sir, could you please refrain from upsetting Lieutenant Commander Elric unnecessarily? We've had enough of the compound blasted up as it is."

     There was something about his laugh that reminded him of everything his alchemical rival had ever said about Mustang using superpowers to be likable. It should have been annoying to have a perfectly reasonable request laughed off like that, but instead it somehow made a man out of blood-chilling legend seem friendly and approachable. "I assure you, that was quite necessary. Understanding a subordinate's habits, however simple they are, is the key to effective resource management."

     "Which brings me to my second question." This being the first time in their entire five-hour acquaintance that he'd gotten Mustang's complete attention, Russell found that his voice suddenly didn't want to leave his throat. But he'd come this far. He might as well ask, even if the answer was 'No'. "Edward Elric's got to be no good as a spy. Maybe he's good in a fight, but he can't take orders, and he can't keep his mouth shut. Let him stay up here. It's the kind of work he's best..."

     The words died on his tongue as Mustang smirked and wrote something down on his sheet. "You're right, Russell. He's a terrible spy. He has quite a few talents that I'm afraid I can't replace, but that isn't one of them." After a good, long gaze back at the bent up remains of a door, he looked back at Russell with perfect seriousness. "Edward is free to leave me any time he chooses. If he likes your offer, he knows I won't force him to stay. Go ahead. Ask him."

     He saluted and jogged off to the makeshift interrogation room before the General could change his mind. Whether or not he could actually put up with Elric for long, he still wasn't sure; but if the Fullmetal Alchemist was helping them, they probably wouldn't have to. They might be done up here before the month was out. So as he pushed aside the door that he _would_ make Elric fix before he left the building, he thought about how exactly he was going to phrase this.

     "Th-that's..." the enemy leader stammered, jumping at his entrance. Then he went back to keeping a weather eye on the detached doorknob Elric was spinning on the table. "The address is 309 Brann Street. A yellow building, you can't miss it."

     Effective resource management. Meaning, Elric looks and acts too much like a small, yappy dog to be intimidating until you get him pissed off, thus clarifying for your prisoner that he's got a hairtrigger temper, the strength of a factory steam press, and the ability to glare at you with the kind of righteous fury that would make an ordinary man explode from effort. As he was demonstrating right now. Once one got to know him, it was obvious that he wouldn't ever choose to do serious damage to a person, but the prisoner had no way to know that.

     As for Russell, he found he was suddenly more daunted by Mustang than he'd been before, and that was no small measure.

     "There a problem?" Elric growled as Russell came to a stop inside the door.

     Best to get to the point, then.

     "I think you should stay here. Work out the water crisis with me and Fletcher. Al, too."

     All the while, Edward never stopped taking notes. "Look, I'll talk to you later, Russell. Kinda busy here."

     "Mustang said I should ask you now."

     He'd thought Elric's glare was fierce before, but the look he got when he mentioned the general's name was on another level. Combined with the way he slammed the doorknob into the table, Russell thought the prisoner might have a heart attack. The other alchemist tromped over and grabbed his collar, pushing up his toes to get up in his face and hiss, "_Mustang said?_ You mean he's fucking playing you like he plays everybody. I know I'm not going to leave him, so get your ass back outside and tell him he's made his point. Which, by the way, he was making to you, _not to me_, because if that jackass doesn't know me a hell of a lot better than that, I will personally flatten him into next Tuesday."

     "Are you serious?" he choked, watching Elric stalk back toward the table. "I thought you hated him! I'd think you'd want to leave."

     "I don't expect you to understand."

     "Maybe..." he started, but cut himself off as the particular chemistry they had on the battlefield and all the little things they'd been saying added up in his head. "Holy shit. You're not sleeping with him, are you?"

     He hadn't worked with Elric more than a day or two here and there over the years, so he'd only heard Alphonse describe his brother's occasional rages. The kind where his hair twitched in silence, and the storms of hell seemed to wrap themselves up into a haloing spiral around his whole body. Russell backed slowly toward the door as the prisoner shot him a glance that seemed to say, 'Don't worry about me. Save yourself.' And really, the sight of the Fullmetal Alchemist, red-faced and on a rampage was enough to make anyone think ducking out was the better part of valor.

     "How did you even--" Jumping up on the table, Elric pointed a more than accusatory finger at his retreat. "_The next person who asks me that question dies in a fire!_"

     Which Russell translated to a definite 'Possibly' as he sped away across the sea of prisoners.

     And he'd be damned if Mustang wasn't laughing again.

~//~

[_Operation Elite -- Day 8, 17:35 hours_]

     Once they'd trundled all 1,256 enemy soldiers into the care of the guards sent down from Briggs, fixing up the laboratory hadn't been much work. Edward had no idea why Russell kept complaining about the way he'd used the available resources during the battle. He'd remembered how the tables were set up, and it wasn't like he'd transmuted anything with an active experiment on it! And when he'd put stuff back, he'd even replaced the laminate workstation counters with granite. Russell should have been thanking him for the upgrades, even if he'd been too mindblown to say much of anything about his new radio receiver.

     Which was awesome! The mesh network Edward had installed an inch under the ground turned every damn mountain around that valley into an antenna for miles around. He'd gotten through to Al after they'd fixed the telegraph and did some tests. The radio system didn't quite reach to Central, but they got a clear signal from every outpost in the North equipped with one of the handsets he and Roy had been distributing on the way up.

     Downed communications lines: completely circumvented. Address all thanks to the Fullmetal Alchemist, care of one Brigadier General Colonel Roy Jerkface in Internal Security.

     One solid day's work done, and it was back on the road for him and the Colonel, this time by way of the Drachmans' headquarters in Hyrcania to cut the proverbial head off the snake. Officially, everything about their covert mission-within-a-mission was in A-plus shape, and since the last cabin on the road in was also the first cabin on the road out, Edward didn't even have to worry about whether he'd have a decent place to sleep tonight. That problem had been well and solved their first night here (for him, anyway).

     But there was, unofficially, a major flaw. Namely, Roy Mustang. He kept ignoring one key detail about their situation that he couldn't _not know_.

     From his perch on his bed back in the used-to-be-a-dump cabin, Edward peeked at the bastard over the edge of his notebook. Roy had finished bringing in new firewood and cleaning up the dinner he'd cooked without a single flirtation and only five meaningful gazes. He had to be playing dumb. Edward could understand if Al had figured him out, or Hawkeye, or Winry, and it wasn't any use trying to convince them otherwise, but where did freaking Russell Tringham get off saying shit like that? He clearly had a sign over his head that said, 'attracted to the world's biggest asshole'. And if it was that obvious that he had a thing for Roy, why was the damned Colonel acting like nothing was up? He had super-senses for reading people, way beyond anything Russell Tringham could ever manage.

     Then again, Roy _had_ asked him out before they left Central. It had sounded like a joke, but technically that'd still been an invitation. Which he'd refused. Had that really been all there was to it?

     Kinda anticlimactic. Maybe he didn't need to worry about what the jerk would do when he found the mattress and blankets Ed had transmuted and hid under the remaining junkpile while the Colonel had been out chopping wood. Maybe nothing would happen.

     Well, whatever! If he'd managed to throw Roy off his scent, that was a good thing, and the playboy colonel was sure to have a full roster of people just dying to not refuse, and maybe then life could go back to normal! Next, he just had to get over his stupid hormonal delusions and they'd all live happily ever after.

     The fact that the thought of that was vaguely unsatisfying was just a symptom of residual overabundance of phenylethylamine in his system after prolonged exposure to Roy being fucking hot in his presence. The only cure was working through the clock experiment numbers he'd gotten off of Alphonse after they'd verified the telegraph was up and running again. At least, he told himself that would help. Maybe he'd get lucky and there'd be a placebo effect.

     The proportions had stayed constant, never deviating from what he'd observed himself before he left, so if one day in Amestris was 20.529 hours on Earth, and the watch was ticking off about 23.967 hours per Amestrian day...

     A series of soft, fast zips caught his ears over the crackling of the fire. It was Roy, he knew, smoothing out the edge of his straight razor on the back side of his belt. Edward looked up anyway. A layer of foam was on his cheeks and neck already, though the Colonel'd towel that off and put on a fresh round before he got to business. He made a production out of this, unlike Hughes had done however many years ago when he'd dragged Edward out and made him buy his first safety razor. Then again, Hughes had always had more stubble than Roy.

     "You're shaving _again_?"

     "Not all of us are blessed with your downy chin, Fullmetal."

     The steam coming off the washcloth Roy pulled from his pot of water glowed a little in the firelight. He tried to make himself turn back to his lines of numbers, get some work done, but there was something hypnotic in the way the Colonel held the cloth on his skin. He didn't scrub off the lather -- just let it melt -- and as he left his face clean, the water dripping into his shirt pulled the opened collar down and away from his neck. Well, there went his concentration. Edward had tried not to watch this whole absurd ritual three times already this trip, and failed. In the process, he'd determined with absolute conviction that there was nothing more inexplicably enthralling in the world than the glossy shines and shadows where Roy Mustang's neck met his shoulders after his skin had gotten a little damp. It wouldn't be so bad if he'd do this in the morning when the sun provided more even lighting, but _no~o_, we couldn't have _that_. Gotta shave by firelight for maximum contrast, 'cause I'm a _sexy jackass_!

     This was normally when he'd start mentally calculating the prime factors of something bigger than a billion to keep his anatomy from embarrassing him, but after almost a fucking week of this, he couldn't think of a number whose factors he hadn't memorized. He knew there had to be an infinite supply, but his brain was getting too fried to find one. Instead, he pulled his knees up and crossed his legs, shoved his notebook in front of his eyes, and pretended he was seeing any of the equations he'd been working.

     And not thinking about Roy's collarbones. Not even a little.

     When he risked a peek to see if the Colonel had covered himself in more stupid-looking white foam yet, Edward found just the opposite. Roy had turned away from the steel shaving mug he used as a mirror, all set to catch Edward at staring. But he didn't look like he was going to say something suggestive, or even say something at all. He just looked confused.

     Crap. He'd totally missed his cue to make a fuss over getting called a baby too young to grow a proper beard. Too late now, though, and it wasn't like he cared. Shaving was a nuisance, all two to three times a month he had to do it. A damn nuisance, and a waste of time he could put toward something more useful. Like figuring out how old he actually was after getting trapped on Earth for seven years. "Fuck you, Roy," he called out, just to make the Colonel stop looking at him, and forced himself to write down the product of the ratios he'd been multiplying.

     If his watch was reading that much less time here, that worked out to between 0.85 and 0.86 times the passage of time on Earth (to be determined more precisely when he had more data). But where was that differential coming from? It was like Al had said, he wouldn't be able to handle something moving half the speed of light relatively to him, and that kind of gravitational force would have crushed anything or anyone built for standard gravity. But theory could wait. Right now, Roy was slicking his straight razor down his cheeks and leaving his jaw all kinds of tempting, and he really needed the numbers.

     Combine the differential of the traveling element with the base differential between the two worlds.

     Multiply that times the approximately 6.4 years he'd spent studying rocket science and quantum physics.

     Get his mental train shoved a mile off the freaking railway by Roy splashing on his _stupid and infernally distracting aftershave_. How was he supposed to rub two thoughts together when the whole room blew up with that smell, like he'd opened a tin of that kind of orange tea that was more spices than orange? And the instant Roy put it on his skin, it kicked off some strange chemistry that made a somewhat pleasant aroma into the scent that had taught him what puberty was. _Not fucking fair_. Never had been, never would be.

     Edward rolled over with a huff and buried his nose as far in his pillows as he could manage while still scratching down his figures. Well, at least he had an answer to run with, barring something that made more sense.

     "I take it your calculations aren't behaving?" He didn't have to look up to know Roy was standing by the foot of his bed, but he did anyway. The Colonel pulled the strap on his eyepatch back into place while he waited for an answer and raked his hair smooth again. Why he didn't just take the damn thing off if it got in the way, Edward had no idea.

     But Roy didn't like it when people mentioned his eyepatch, so that was no way to change the subject. He couldn't exactly cop to what the actual problem was, either. Roy might start hitting on him again, and this time might not take, 'No,' for an answer. No other option presenting itself, he scowled at the numbers on his page and bluffed. "It looks like I'm gonna turn twenty-one just in time for my twenty-second birthday."

     A soft chuckle sounded from behind him. At least somebody was having a good time. "That doesn't sound so bad."

     And why the hell was Roy just walking over to the makeshift bed he'd put together with his pack and that sad-looking old blanket? He had to have been freezing the night before last when they'd stopped in this waystation before. Was he not even going to look for something he could turn into more bedding? How was he going to stumble on the blankets and stuff Edward'd made that were just waiting to be found under all the crap in the corner if he didn't _look_?

     Damn it.

     He jumped out of his own bed, stretching his arms over his head so he could surreptitiously take a glance behind him and make sure Roy's attention was fixed on prepping his bedding. "Yeah, well. You try suddenly being half a decade younger than you were. See how you like it," he growled, trying to sound extra pissed off so there was no reason to wonder why he suddenly kicked a piece of junk against the wall and made the whole pile crash down.

     "Logically, you haven't actually de-aged, Fullmetal. You've lived the same amount of time you would have done if you'd never run your experiment. All that's changed is the number you're using."

     "Yeah? If you're so good at logic, why are you using that blanket when I just found the other bed?"

     That got his attention. Roy dropped the threadbare rag where it fell and met him over in the corner without wasting a second. "Well. I'm amazed we missed these before. They're so _vivid_."

     "Must not've been looking right," Edward mumbled, pacing over toward the fire. There was nothing wrong with a couple bright colors. Nothing in the military regs said everything in these places had to look like it was dyed to match the dust.

     "And unless I miss my guess, this quilt is stuffed with eiderdown." As he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw Roy looking over one of the blankets and smiling a weird smile. Hard to say what was weird about it, but it had to be -- it wasn't a smile Edward could call sexy, but it still kind of made his insides tie up in knots. Definitely weird. He moved as close as he could to the fire so the heat would cover up the spread of a blush on his cheeks. Hard to say how much it helped when Roy had walked up right behind him and all but blocked him against the mantle. "Tell me, Fullmetal. How do you think the military got an excellent quilt such as this into a neglected, old waystation so far North? Let alone one so fresh. The damp hasn't gotten into it at all."

     Whipping around, he yelled, "I wouldn't know!" Possibly not his best idea ever, since Roy was right there in his space, being Roy and thus clearly aware that he was lying. But honestly! If he could tell they'd been transmuted, why not just say it? He didn't have to sit there, grinning like the country'd just elected him Fuhrer and smelling like cardamom and ginger, making _implications_. "What're you trying to say?" Edward demanded, and broke into a mockery of Roy's high and mighty proclamations as pushed into a less crowded part of the room. "Ah, Fullmetal! If you were going to find me a bed, you didn't have to go so far! You have a perfectly fine one right here, begging to be shared!"

     The smug bastard was laughing now. Thrilled and amused. Fantastic.

     "Well, no thanks!" The desire to scream at Roy had been making his toes curl almost every second of the last few days, and it made no sense that he was finally doing it now when the Colonel had saved his ass at least thirty-seven times back in the fight at the laboratory. But what was he supposed to do when _Roy being Roy_ just pissed him off? He waved his notebook high over his head and tried to shout loud enough to wipe the grin off the Colonel's face. "I've got work to do, and I don't need your sarcasm or your big feet getting in the way!"

     Since shouting wasn't working, he turned away and leaned against a bedpost with his nose in his notes. At least he couldn't see if Roy was still smiling. It didn't do him much good to look over his equations again, since his brain was twice as shot now as when he'd done them to begin with, but he pushed his hair out of his face and looked at them anyway.

     Then he felt a soft tickle by his ear, and all his bangs fell right back in his eyes. First, his reflexes kicked in to smack away the hand responsible. Thank goodness for reflexes. It wasn't until a nanosecond later that he realized the Colonel had tried to play with his freaking hair again, and his skin started tingling like he'd touched a live circuit instead of having been brushed by Roy's fingers. Why didn't anyone make a vaccine for this? Dealing with a sex drive was probably the number one cause of inefficient thinking in history, assuming biology messed with other people the way it messed with him.

     "Thank you," Roy said, even though Edward had turned his back again.

     "I'm still mad at you, bastard."

     "I know."

     The Colonel made off with all the bedding in the corner while Edward went back to pretending he wasn't watching. Good thing that Roy knew he was mad, too, because he was going to stay mad until a few very specific criteria had been met.

     First off, Roy had to make the intern girl stop thinking he was boyfriend material.

     Second, there had to be some lead, somewhere, that justified this entire investigation, because Edward wasn't going through this for nothing.

     And third, he had to stop being _so fucking hot_. Was that so hard?

     If history was any way to judge, the Colonel'd deliver on the first two in annoyingly fine style, sooner rather than later, and the last criterion would ensure that Edward would be pissed at him for the rest of forever. And damn it, he _was_ too burned out to be sure he'd gotten these figures right! The steps this was going to require would never make his top ten list of favorite methods in the world, but what choice did he have? He had to do what he had to do.

     "Hey, Roy," he called out, and the blue-suited nincompoop looked up from fluffing a pillow. Edward turned his eyes up to a far corner, holding out his notebook and hoping it was too dark for the other alchemist to see how red his cheeks were turning. "Can you check my math?"

     Taking the book from his hand, Roy leaned up against the foot of Edward's bedframe and smirked. Again. "Is this your ridiculous 'Earth math' with its imaginary numbers?"

     "_i_ is the square root of negative one, and it works, so don't act like you can't remember that much! Besides, all of what I've got there uses real numbers. Stop complaining!"

     "I'll give it a look."

     While he leafed through the pages, Edward wandered over to where he'd dropped his pack. The last glows of twilight were nearly gone, and he was damn well going to sleep in something other than the clothes he'd hiked in all day. A minute or two hung by the fire should be plenty of time to get all the cold and the damp out of his spare long johns and flannels.

     "Aside from your penmanship, this looks reasonable," Roy called over.

     "Oh, _thanks_." Leaning against the wall to watch the fire crackle, he grumbled. "Trouble is, I haven't got a force to explain how time got crunched that way. I should have noticed anything that could cause a change that big, so this answer's nonsense. I must be doing something wrong."

     The Colonel flipped a page back and forward again, and Edward pulled the newly warmed shirt over his head. It was always a little awkward getting his arms out of his old shirt and pulling it off through the neck hole, but it was better than being half naked in a tiny stone cabin up in the back of Mt. Nowhere in the middle of winter. He managed. By the time he was finished, Roy must've been done looking through his notes. The Colonel had dropped the book to the bed and was watching him instead, waiting on him with an odd tilt to his head and a calm smile.

     "You got something?"

     Roy glanced back at the page, but only for a fraction of a second before re-establishing eye contact. "Well, I'm not entirely certain where the variable _x_ entered the equation."

     "What do you mean? It's the ratio between the velocity of the moving frame and the speed of light!"

     "Of course," he laughed, and snapped the book shut. "Well, I see nothing wrong with your arithmetic. Any problems must be in your premise, which I don't mind critiquing..." As Edward reached for his long underwear, Roy coughed into his hand and faced the back of the room. "... provided you explain what that premise is."

     "Nothing new." He shucked his leather pants and old long johns as fast as possible so he could trade them for the new long johns even faster. "World-breaking forces make time go... "

     Wait a second. There he was, looking for forces that could warp reality, and he'd been sitting on the big one all along.

     "Oh, fuck. How could I be such an idiot? I _was_ the force acting on the time-space vectors! Just having flipped the universe inside out basically guarantees something would go wonky!"

     Roy turned back and raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Then you've successfully calculated your age, and we can put the whole question behind us?"

     "No," he snarled. With a sigh, he walked over, yanking the book out of the Colonel's hands. His flannel pyjamas could wait. "What the hell was the mass of that watch, anyway?" He flipped through the pages back to his earliest notes on setting up the experiment. Roy peeked over his shoulder, but with enough force, he could ignore it. Kinda. "Right. Ninety-seven grams, which means I massed, like... seven hundred thirty-one-ish times what the watch does. And that ratio works out to... " He scribbled some quick and dirty calculations that couldn't be called exact. They'd work for an estimate, though. "Fucking hell. That's like .991c! I really would still be sixteen!" All of a sudden, Roy's arm jerked away from where it'd been resting behind him on the mattress, and when Ed looked up, the Colonel was staring at his notes with a kind of blank anguish. "What's _your_ problem?"

     He didn't answer at first. It was like he couldn't quite find his voice as he rubbed his chin, then pulled the notebook out of Edward's hands. Roy studied the lines of numbers closely for a moment, shut the book with a ringing smack, and knocked the spine against Edward's head.

     "Ow."

     "Be twenty-one, Fullmetal." Book still in hand, Roy wandered over to his own bed and sat down with a thump. "I think that'll be easier for everyone."

     Edward dashed after him, but Roy hid the notes behind his back and refused to let them go. "Just be twenty-one?! What, because the Great and Powerful Roy Mustang says so?"

     "A flawless reason if ever I heard one," he answered with a smile.

     "I don't care who you think you are, or if you're going to run the whole damn world someday! You can't tell the laws of physics not to apply!"

     "I just did."

     Looking absurdly pleased with himself, the jackass pushed the notebook back into his Edward's chest and stretched out on the sheets. He wasn't listening to another word, that much was clear.

     So much for science.

~//~

[_Operation Parliament -- Day 15, 14:02 hours_]

     Winry may have been willing to bring one of her old dresses to Central and take in the seams so it would fit 2nd Lieutenant Fuery, but she was less willing to accept the official reason. If there were any way Alphonse could have explained the reality to her, he would have done so, but undercover operations weren't topics one was allowed to discuss with civilians -- even childhood friends who thought you'd gone off your head -- especially when Nii-san had explained that Brigadier General Mustang had a policy of allowing his enemies to install covert surveillance in his office.

     "Al, are you sure you guys have thought this through?" Winry asked, reattaching a bit of lace where she'd adjusted the collar. "I mean, I don't see how raiding a library at a ladies' university is going to help any situation Ed and Mustang have going on."

     He let out a painful laugh and shook his head. Fortunately or unfortunately, that was exactly what was going to happen. And even if Nii-san and the General failed to notice their efforts entirely, the attempt would give the Lieutenant an opportunity to observe what General Princeton Motors had been doing in the library's archives. "It's a fairly complex operation," Al answered with a wince. No part of this conspiracy, as far as he could tell, required him to pretend all their plans were good ideas. "The... ah. The theory is that they'll need records on previous wars with Drachma once they get back. Stora Bakken University's military history project has the best records and transcripts on file -- to which 2nd Lieutenant Fuery will secure after-hours access."

     By stealth and duplicity, Alphonse added in his head, that being another thing he couldn't say out loud.

     As she knotted the thread into the end of a seam, Winry frowned at him and narrowed her eyes. "Accomplishing what, exactly?"

     "We'll hide an object or text in the archive," he recited from rote. "One that Nii-san and the Brigadier are sure to find, and which will reveal their true feelings to each other."

     Her unimpressed grimace was well deserved, Alphonse knew, but the ever growing list of things he couldn't say to anyone also included how accurate his brother's conviction had been that the overt war would be over by the time he got back to Central, and only the covert one nobody knew about would continue. There wasn't any real point in working out what could be used to reveal anything about anyone's feelings if Nii-san would never actually go to those archives.

     Instead, he insisted, "We're going to figure that part out once we've gained access!" and Winry rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

     "This plan is ludicrous, Al! You've got to know Ed's going to deny everything, no matter what 'object or text' you shove in their faces, so why go to all this trouble?"

     He took the finished dress and started folding it neatly, mostly so he wouldn't have to try looking her in the eye while he gave an explanation. "Really, it's most important that we have a wide variety of back-up options available -- something for every possible situation where they might find themselves. And this really isn't the worst idea we've put into motion."

     From the way she scrunched up her nose, Alphonse was most of the way convinced that Winry could tell there was more going on here. "How can this possibly not be the worst idea ever?" she asked, and shut her mending case with a particularly harsh click.

     Any difficulties with phrasing an answer were, thankfully, unnecessary. Lieutenant Breda and Captain Havoc chose that exact moment to blow through the office door, with Captain Hawkeye shaking her head behind them. "Why is General Focke-Wolf working with white cerulean butterflies?" Havoc asked. It was hard to say whether the Captain looked more surprised at the mention of bugs or Winry did, even though the Captain was in the middle of spilling a pack of cigarettes all over the threshold. "It was supposed to be frogs and salamanders, not butterflies!"

     Lieutenant Breda shrugged, maintaining much greater calm. "The salamanders hatched early."

     "I _so_ don't want to know," Winry muttered, throwing her hands out to the sides. "If you guys ever manage to get those two together, it'll be a miracle, but I guess I'll leave you to it. I'll meet you at the coffeeshop when you're done with work, Al."

     Captain Havoc watched her marched out around the various officers' desks in the outer office and slam the hallway door without bothering to be discreet. As soon as she was gone, he nodded at Al. "Is Winry-chan, you know... gonna be around for a few days? Because she'd be a huge help on that project with the flying machines Falman's designing for General Hakuro."

     The crashes from the outer office sounded like the gray-haired man had skidded around every chair but one, which clattered to the floor just as he poked his head into the main room. "Miss Rockbell does more than automail?" Lieutenant Falman had managed an astoundingly good job so far, but he wasn't an experienced mechanical designer.

     "I let her mess with the General's car when she first came by this morning," Captain Havoc answered with a nod. "I don't know what she did, but it runs better than new and I swear it's getting four times the miles to the gallon."

     "Sounds pretty handy," Lieutenant Breda agreed, before he and everyone else did a double take at the Captain. "Wait. You let her at Brigadier General Mustang's car with a wrench?"

     "Ah..." He tucked his cigarette, which he still hadn't managed to light, behind his ear and glanced off to the side. "Well, she makes the boss's automail, you know? So she's good. I figured she'd get it back together." But Alphonse was certain the room was still staring because he wasn't the only one who could tell that Captain Havoc wouldn't be embarrassed over such an easy reason as that. Sure enough, a few seconds later, he burst out saying, "What? She's really cute! Do you know how hard it is to say no when she says, '_Pretty, pretty please_'?"

     Crickets chirping outside echoed through the whole room as Captain Havoc backed slowly toward the door. Alphonse had seen Winry ask to take apart quite a few machines in his time, and thus had seen a great many people manage to turn her down. At least, he figured, Brigadier General Mustang had a 68% chance of considering that an acceptable reason (supposing he found out), even if no one else did.

     "Alphonse-kun. I believe you were waiting to pick up the dispatches?" Captain Hawkeye said, breaking the silence and somehow turning the atmosphere back to normal with her words. Thanks to a bit of discreet wirework perpetrated by Schiezka, they'd managed to redirect the Tringham's telegraph line to the security offices before Nii-san had gotten it running again eight days ago. Now, secure information about the front came straight to Captain Hawkeye, Alphonse could get his research data from her the same as he had done when it came through couriers, and they could maintain the illusion that the line was broken, as Brigadier General Mustang had insisted.

     For good reason, it turned out.

     "Thank you, Captain Hawkeye." He walked over and took the stack of papers she'd held out, trying to decide how best to make himself understood. Alphonse wasn't certain he'd worked out all the details of the security team's code system, and he hated to suspect his own superior, but he was sure this was exactly the sort of thing he needed to tell someone, no matter how he did it. "And... there's one more thing."

     Captain Hawkeye knit her brow and didn't say a word, waiting for him to go on.

     Well, he couldn't go too wrong saying exactly what had happened, could he? Surely they'd forgive him for not making this into a plot to enable his brother's relationship with the Brigadier General if he delivered it like normal, everyday news.

     "You see, Lt. General Bloch was asking about Nii-san and Brigadier General Mustang's progress in the North. He was certain he'd heard the telegraph line was operational, so he was surprised I still had to pick up your dispatches. I told him that wasn't the case."

     It wasn't a very graceful way to get the message across, but it seemed to have worked. The captain nodded once and bit her lip, jotting a note down in her planner. "I understand. We'll be sure to stay in contact with the Research office. I know the telegraph line is a matter of high concern."

     More specifically, as Nii-san had explained, it was on the list of things no one could know who hadn't heard it from Brigadier General Mustang or from whoever was orchestrating the coup d'etat. No one in the office had said a word about it that wasn't in code. The news would have had to have come from the North through other channels -- channels supporting the invasion rather than opposing it. All Alphonse could hope was that Lt. General Bloch had heard that from someone else, and not found out because it was his coup.

     The captain put her book away, and this time looked at him more kindly. "For now, I can say that Edward-kun and the Brigadier are safe and well. Our best guesses say they should be heading back within the week."

     "I'm sure," he answered with a smile. The flashes of Nii-san's life bleeding through into his mind had stopped since his brother had come home, but Captain Hawkeye's estimate was easy to calculate based on how quickly the Drachman attacks in the North had been dwindling. In fact, communications from Briggs indicated that many of the captured soldiers had been talked into helping with efforts to rebuild what they'd broken. The trains might be running again just in time for Nii-san to complain that they should have waited another day instead of walking home.

     Of course, if he wasn't making a small thing like that out to be the end of the world, he was sure to be complaining that all the Drachman soldiers together couldn't put up a decent fight between them. It was always one or the other.

~//~

[_Operation Elite -- Day 18, 15:59 hours_]

     The dark-haired stranger had kept his back to her, and had bypassed introductions in favor of urgent questions about the status of their operation. Truth be told, Severskaya found it a fair impression of one of the state's interrogators. Some people might have been fooled. She knew, though. Interrogators weren't sent undercover; he should have been dressed in green. This man was dressed in the same grays as her, with the rank insignia of a general, and she didn't know him -- nor the blond who'd met her unit at the checkpoint door. They knew all the passwords, and they spoke without the atrocious accents that usually gave away foreigners; all the same, her gut said they were trouble.

     Probably the same trouble that had kept Chaika and Yakovlev from returning to camp with new orders.

     "Sir, that information should have been in our dispatches," she told him. Better to play along until she could determine who these people were. Maybe she could get away to report home if they let their guards down. It was a cloudy day, and he was facing a window. Now and again, the sky grew dark enough to catch a glimpse of his reflection. The cut of his jaw, his nose -- so far, nothing more. All she'd learned was that he was really quite good-looking on the lower half of his face.

     Finally, enough of a cloud drifted over the sun to get a full reflection. The eyepatch over his left eye couldn't be mistaken. This man had been in their intelligence packets long before any plans to cross the border had been broached, and her orders were to shoot on sight.

     _Roy Mustang!_ she thought, bolting to her feet as she snapped back the release on her holster.

     Or she tried to. It wouldn't budge, locking her gun to her side as the blond pulled a lever on the wall that dropped a cage around them before they could run.

     How had they not noticed a giant cage hanging from the ceiling?

     Or that all their gun holsters had been fused shut? Every one of her men checked his weapon, and not one of them could draw. Even if Mustang was an alchemist, he should have needed to draw one of his trick circles to manage it. But he'd never even approached them!

     Severskaya attempted to retain some dignity, taking her chair and motioning for the others to do the same. "So you're the Flame Alchemist. It's an honor."

     "I see my reputation has preceded me," Mustang said, turning around and smiling the devil's own smile as he took his seat.

     "Again," the blond muttered. "You need to be less damn famous."

     The Amestrian general chuckled under his breath, ignoring all his captives. Severskaya would have liked to think he'd foolishly underestimated them, but they were only six disarmed soldiers facing at least one Amestrian State Alchemist from inside a cage. This wasn't a fight they could win. They'd been completely had.

     "Speak for yourself, Fullmetal. The last bunch recognized you before they got through the door."

     No, definitely not a fight they could win. She eyed the young man with a frown that she could feel twitching on her lips. It was true, he had the gold hair, the gold eyes. But they'd heard a great many things about the Fullmetal Alchemist, Edward Elric -- not least of which was that he'd left this world for one that wouldn't let him return.

     "The report of his death was an exaggeration," the Flame Alchemist sighed.

     "Stop saying that!" the blond yelled. "I'm not Mark Twain!"

     Clearly, he'd already heard the questions she wasn't asking. How long had this charade of theirs been going on?

     Not that the past was her present concern. "It doesn't matter what you do to me," she told him. "Or any of us. No one in my unit has a loose tongue."

     With a sort of lazy grace, the man flipped through a notebook on the desk in front of him. "Colonel Severskaya of the 150th, I presume? Currently stationed north of Kaling's Run. No, I don't imagine you could be persuaded." She kept her mouth shut. He wasn't going to intimidate her with any show of basic intelligence. "If I were your enemy, that is. You can relax, I won't be torturing anybody. As I'm sure you're aware, my only interests lie in restoring the peace to this region and cleaning up a small matter of a traitor in my own government. Anything you wish to say in the name of future goodwill between our countries, I'll gladly accept. Should you prefer to remain silent, I won't coerce you. The end result will be the same."

     "And that is?" she asked.

     "You'll be remanded to Briggs to await extradition." He leaned forward with a charming smile quite suited to a man who knew he'd won. "And when you get home, you'll give a message to whoever in your government decided to back this insurrection. Tell them their man is never going to run Amestris. _I am_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "Going Aboard" was Chapter 21 in Moby Dick by Herman Melville, published in 1851. The next chapter is already underway, and will be the next thing I publish as my new fic schedule is based around "finishing things". Chapters 6-10 of this story will be coming out as fast as I can write them. That said, the title of Chapter 6 is next up on the "Guess the source and win a virtual cookie" contest, and that title is: "How a Gardener May Get Rid of the Dormice".
> 
> 2) I'm aware that Edward transmuted hardened carbon to the surface of his automail in the manga plotline, but I thought about how I'd react to hearing about that if I were Winry for two seconds, and then zipped off to research physical problems with metal caused by cold and how to solve them. The ratios in that steel alloy Winry uses in this chapter were taken from an actual steel alloy used in cryogenic work, so I'm fairly confident that Edward's new arm could withstand the snow in the mountains.
> 
> 3) I just want to state unequivocally for the record that Edward is not still 16. Alphonse is completely correct about all the reasons he's stated up to this point for why that's both stupid and impossible. Our hero will figure that out, too, but it won't be a big deal from here on out.
> 
> 4) Names!
> 
> Brigadier General Jennessy Focke-Wolf was named for a German aircraft manufacturer (Focke-Wulf).  
> Colonel Severskaya is named for the Seversky P-35, an American fighter plane from the 1930s. The respelling reflects the grammatical declension of Russian surnames to account for gender.  
> Chaika was the nickname of a Soviet fighter, the Polikarpov I-15, and Yakovlev was named for a series of World War II Soviet aircraft.
> 
> 5) I make music mixes while I'm thinking about plot structure, characterization, and setting. And then... I share them! The mix for this story has finally been completed. You can download it [here](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=CE5063O0)


	6. How a Gardener May Get Rid of the Dormice

     Roy had missed field missions. There was nothing like being tied to a desk to make a man dream about scaling mountains. Of course, behind a desk, a man also forgot that the more interesting a mission had been, the worse the paperwork was when you got home. It had been four weeks since they'd left the North behind them, and the forms had only cleared up today, just in time for medals all around. On the other hand, he hadn't enjoyed Friday evenings so much in years. Anyone with eyes would understand Edward's surface appeal, but it was more than a mellow shine on his leather pants in the low light of the bar, and more than something aged in an oak cask going to his head. This was exactly what Maes had warned him about, sitting where Edward was now.

     _Someday, Roy, you'll see. You won't even know what hit you, you'll just wake up and hers'll be the only face you want to see on your pillow in the morning -- an' I hope for your sake she feels the same way, 'cause if she won't have you, you'll be a mess, I guarantee. Like. You. Wouldn't. Believe._

     _Tell you what..._

     _I'll bet you a fifth'a Greybeard you end up with a blond._

     Maes had been a smart man -- too smart for him. He may have been laughing when he'd taken that bet, but now the words echoed in his head like a prophesy as he took a glance at the bright golden bangs falling around Edward's face.

     If only.

     Perhaps he'd always suffered from wishful thinking, but with both Hawkeye and Alphonse making such an effort to convince him Edward was playing hard to get, it was only human to wonder if they were right. He knew that. Contrary to common wisdom, however, he did have some experience with rejection, and his life didn't afford the luxury of being 'only human'. They had a country to protect.

     "Seriously, Roy. You can't order your people to stop harassing us?"

     "More trouble than it's worth." His companion twisted around in his seat with a sidelong squint at the shaggy figure in the corner -- Havoc in a wig and false moustache. "Try not to stare, Fullmetal. If anyone else makes him, we really will have to find him a new disguise."

     As ordered, the young man swiveled to face the wall of bottles and glasses. "He ought to have something better to do than watch us."

     "And are you worried about what he'll see?"

     "_No_."

     "Then let him have his fun."

     Danny, the bartender, was prompt as always despite the crowd. "What can I get you, gentlemen?"

     "Double scotch. Neat," Roy answered.

     "And I'll..." After an instant's pause, Edward leaned over and grabbed his jacket by the elbow. "What do you call--"

     "Don't worry, I've got it," said the bartender with a shake of his head and an incredulous chuckle.

     Two measures of fifteen-year-old single malt went into one glass, some ice in another, and never had a jigger of gin with a pour of tonic water seen such suspicion. "Thank you," the blond pronounced.

     "Any time, kid."

     Tracking the bartender all the way to the other end of the bar with his eyes, Edward leaned back into whispering range. "How'd he know?"

     "Because you're predictable," Roy whispered back, a smile peeking onto his lips.

     The blond's indignant huff only proved his point. "Am--!" Fullmetal reduced his volume as soon as he saw Roy shush him with a finger to his mouth. It was so much _fun_ to watch him scowl. "Am not."

     "Are too." If Hawkeye could have seen them, she'd scold him yet again for that. A general ought to have more dignity than to squabble like a schoolboy, she liked to tell him, and she certainly had a point. Some of the most pleasant things in the world had nothing to do with dignity, though. A bickering match with Fullmetal was one of them. "I could've guessed everything you ordered last week, and the week before."

     "You're full of shit."

     "Right after we came back, you had bourbon," he said, pointing to the first bottle on the wall. "Straight up, then on the rocks, with water, and so on. The next week you moved on to the vermouth." Edward's frown got deeper as he pointed to the second bottle, then the third. "Next you got halfway through the gin. Do you think you're the first person to try drinking through the rack?" He took a sip of his drink as Edward crossed his arms over his chest. "Regulars have been calling that the 'Alchemist Slayer' since before my time."

     "I guess that makes sense, then," the blond grumbled. He pulled in his slightly fizzing glass and studied it carefully. "So, what _is_ this called?"

     "A Gin and Tonic?"

     "Yeah. What's it called? You've got funny names for everything."

     Before Ed had come back, Roy had forgotten how it felt to grin so hard his cheeks hurt. "It's called a 'Gin and Tonic', Fullmetal."

     A loaded finger jabbed at his shoulder as the blond leaned as far into his face as he could get without leaving the stool. "You say that like it's obvious, but just watch! The day I assume you call something what it is, the sun'll turn backward and do a jig three times around the moon!"

     "I can't wait to see how you manage that."

     Just like he wanted to see Edward order an 'Ice Shot' and find out it was hazelnut liqueur with milk.

     After a quiet sip of his drink, Edward dropped his chin onto his fist with a steel-plated thunk. Roy didn't even see him shove his notebook over the bar -- just saw it stop precisely where he'd been planning to set his scotch down. "I know you read this. Marshal Levochkin's not your guy. Enemy communication patterns didn't change when he went up North to do inspections, and news about the telegraph line hit Central before he came back."

     "Excellent deduction, Fullmetal." He patted the young man on the shoulder, as mock-serious as he could be under the circumstances. "I'm still reserving judgment until we have clear evidence."

     "And what exactly does 'clear evidence' mean to you?" Edward snatched the notebook back and dropped it into his pocket. "It's not Levochkin. You don't need me keeping tabs on him, so make Katya stop asking me to go out for milkshakes! I hate milkshakes, and I'm running out of ways to say 'no' to tea."

     Oh, that name.

     He should never have let Fullmetal demonstrate how perfect he was for that job.

     Him. Jealous. Of a girl interning in the typing pool.

     Logically, he shouldn't have been. There was no reason at all, but the end of every lunch break still found him cursing the fact that her connections kept him from writing her out of their lives entirely. He could only remind himself that Fullmetal would never see her as a lover. Little good that did.

     "Clear evidence is something I'll know when I see it, and so will you. If you can find it for me in time," Roy offered, swirling his drink and appreciating the scent of the pale amber spirit in his glass. "... maybe I'll give you some advice on letting the young lady down gently for your twenty-second birthday. Call it my present. You _will_ be turning twenty-two in a month or so, won't you?"

     Golden eyes narrowed at him with a charming little snarl. "I'm only agreeing because I had all the growth spurts Winry predicted, and because I can't tell any size difference in that watch or my books or my old coat. If length compression is that minor, then the effects of time dilation would be, too."

     "I'll take it."

     "Why d'you even give a shit how old I am?"

     Roy opted not to incriminate himself. He took a sip from his glass instead, as silence hung over the clink of ice and the hum of the evening crowd before Edward finally asked the question both of them had been avoiding.

     "... You really think Lt. General Bloch is your mastermind?"

     "If I knew, we wouldn't be investigating." Personally, he hoped not. The Rubicon Alchemist had been one of the few senior officers who'd protested their orders in Ishbal. When Bradley's regime couldn't bring him to heel, he'd been sent South to hold the Aerugan border, then to molder in obscurity, but he'd never submitted. Roy wanted to think he still had those scruples, but the sad truth was that war found its way inside people. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had seen a soldier forget how to live without it.

     "If one leaps to conclusions in this game, one gets destroyed," he explained, deliberately not addressing the concern no doubt first on his companion's mind: his brother, directly under Bloch's command. But if anyone could be trusted to see trouble and take appropriate action before it was too late, it was Alphonse Elric; Edward knew that best of anyone. "Clear evidence, Fullmetal. No suppositions clouding your observations. That's what I need from you in there."

     "Great. Because you cancelled my relativity experiment by _your mighty decree about the nature of time and space_, so I've got no reason to hang out in the lab anymore! I'm making you come up with a new idea."

     "Don't worry. I've got something picked out."

     The young man sitting next to him scowled, knotting up his forehead and trying to stare him down. Edward kept trying that, and he lasted longer than most, but someday he'd learn that no one had ever -- ever -- made Roy Mustang flinch.

~//~

     "And what does Brigadier General Mustang have you doing with Kyrian political essays?"

     Leave it to that bastard to be five steps ahead. He could count '_How do I hate thee's_' on Lt. General Bloch's freckles as the head of Research pulled books from his cart and read the titles off the spines.

     Stupid Roy and his stupid projects digging through stupid democratic systems in stupid dead civilizations _on a Saturday_. This was why the Colonel had been slipping dusty language textbooks into his work pile for the past month? What was the point? Nobody talked about Kyrus anymore outside of fairy tales and high-art theater, a.k.a. 'boring shit', which was what all this looked like. Rubbing at his surveillance headache, Edward shrugged. "He says there's a code. Some lost alchemical formula he wants me to figure out. I'm supposed to crack these and follow up on the theories."

     And here he'd always thought there hadn't been any alchemists in Kyrus.

     Then again, the real work was for him to deliver a clandestine report on the various and sundry activities of Lt. General Bloch himself, hidden in the form of an essay on the public benefits and responsibilities of democracy, which made even less sense. Did Roy not realize he was a specialist in practical science? He'd never given two figs for political philosophy! Why hand him _this_ crap?

     The Lieutenant General frowned, puzzling over Edward's cover story. "I appreciate having someone of your caliber in my lab, but I'm surprised Brigadier General Mustang would stick out his neck to keep you, then give you work better suited to my department, _in_ my department."

     Great. Suspicion. As much as he wanted to say, '_I'm observing you for symptoms of a moderately advanced coup d'etat_', he couldn't, and Al had made him promise that if Bloch started being nosy, he wouldn't try to make up a story. He didn't know _why_. He made up great stories. But he'd promised. Now if only he could remember whether a Brigadier was higher or lower than a Lieutenant General. If Roy outranked the head of R&amp;D, he could brush this off. If Edward was right about the pecking order, though, he'd get Roy in a lot of trouble for that.

     "It's for a security investigation," he answered. It was basically true, and conveyed as close to no information as he could manage. "I can't say more than that. Mustang didn't tell me jack shit."

     The slant of the Rubicon Alchemist's eyebrow said he was about to order Edward to try explaining out of pure curiosity, and he definitely didn't want to see how far any alchemist would go for curiosity. After a long, hard stare, he said, "Well then, Mr. Elric. Tell our commander of security that I'll be looking forward to _his_ report with great interest."

     His lucky day, apparently.

     "No problem." A moment of tense staring passed before he remembered to add, "Sir."

     Hard to say if his luck had run out when Lt. General Fieseler stomped in on his automail leg (a blocky job perfect for an old warhorse, and just the kind of work that'd drive Winry nuts). It got Bloch off his back, but if Marshal Levochkin dropped in next, he might have to go through yet another review of his trip through the fictional rabbit-hole. At least he could bullshit that in his sleep. Edward dropped his special spying thermos on the table, chrome shined up enough to act as a mirror on everything behind him. Maybe he'd get really lucky and they'd forget he was even here. Observing people in reflections, reading lips, and hearing conversations from across the room were things he'd learned fast under Roy's tutelage, but it was a lot easier when the people in question weren't being careful.

     Unfortunately, one of the first things he heard was Bloch asking Fieseler, "Do you ever feel like we're being watched?" It took all of his willpower not to cuss and snarl.

     Fieseler kept his gaze on Edward all the time while he answered. "You mean Mustang's eyes? I wouldn't worry if I were you. It's when you can't see him coming that he's dangerous."

     "That's very well, but he's working in my house, and I'd like to know what he's after." The Rubicon Alchemist narrowed his eyes in Edward's direction. "Enough about Mustang. You said you wanted to check my reports on the rabbit-hole? You have your own, don't you?"

     The two generals drifted towards the back office, thankfully not calling Edward into any more of that mess. "I need to be sure I'm not missing one. There's a figure I--"

     Bloch's office door clicked closed, cutting off the rest of the conversation, and Edward collapsed with his nose planted in the binding of some discourse on principles of orderly debate. What was the code word for, '_They can fucking tell I'm on surveillance!_' again? Did he say that by telling everyone the dog with three spots had gotten adopted from the pound, or was it the one about seeing strange bones in the stone quarry? Maybe he'd be better off passing the Colonel a note when they were back in the office on Monday. At least the written code let him use real words.

     Or even better! Al's party was tomorrow! The Colonel would be there, and he and Al had kept the house clean from wiretaps and surveillance bugs. He could shout it as loud as he wanted, right in Roy's face!

     Then a light click on the other side of the tabletop cut short all his rejoicing. That was the sound of a lunchbox. A sensible, rectangular lunchbox for two that had become a source of fear and dread out of all proportion to what wood and lacquer deserved. The lunchbox was navy blue today, which was weird considering the bright green cardigan and lemony dress. She had at least fifteen lunchboxes that he'd seen so far, all in different colors, and the one she brought _always_ matched her outfit.

     "I hope I'm not disturbing you, Edward." She fluttered her eyes through wire-rimmed glasses as if she'd gotten dust in them, red hair set in curls around her face -- always a little too perfect to be natural. "I know I should have knocked, but you looked busy."

     He swallowed the words, 'I _am_ busy.' Roy's third rule of non-dating was, 'Thou shalt not make the girl feel unwelcome. Ever.'

     "Hey, Katya." He nodded at the seat across the table to tell her to sit. Naturally, she pushed his book cart to a more central spot and dragged the chair around to where the cart had been. "What're you doing here? It's Saturday."

     "Avia from the Records desk said she'd seen you in the Central Library checking out almost the entire Kyrian civics section." She shrugged her sweater off her shoulders with a practiced little dip and hung it over the back of the chair. "You know, I'm majoring in Political Science."

     "I remember." He was also figuring out that this girl had some kind of serious information network running through the receptionists and other interns around Central Command, and could locate him like magic whether he was in the building or around town. He absolutely couldn't let Roy know about it or he'd never be allowed to break this off.

     Clearing her throat, the intern swept herself up onto her seat, her skirt drifting to rest unusually high over her knees. As far as convergence of forces went, it didn't seem like the normal result of sitting or of crossing one's legs, but Roy probably would have liked it anyway. The Colonel had occasionally recited extemporaneous odes to the flash of a girl's garter back in the day, and if he'd been looking right, he probably could have seen from the top of Katya's stockings all the way to the white-edged navy pumps poking into his legspace. Like he cared what color her shoes were -- but that was rule number five: 'Thou shalt notice what she's wearing'.

     Then he took a second look at the navy lunchbox.

     "Oh. It's your shoes."

     "Pardon?"

     "Your lunchbox matches your shoes," he clarified. There was one mystery solved.

     Her forehead crinkled over one eye and she shook her head at the far corner. "Gosh. I hadn't realized," she sighed, flicking her skirt into a more natural position. "But I just thought... If you're working with governmental theory, maybe I should help you?"

     On the one hand, he could tell her that he was looking for encoded alchemical formulas, not studying ancient political systems, but then, you never knew when a better understanding of the subject would help. Also, if she was helping him with his research, he could do his spying and he might not have to risk getting asked on a date.

     Verging on too good to be true.

     "I have to read these in the original, though," Edward sighed, shaking his head. "I mean, you don't read Kyrian, do you?"

     Katya brightened up with a proud little gleam on her glasses as she pushed them up on her nose. "_Gignoskein teleos_," she answered immediately. '_I know it perfectly_,' Edward translated in his head. Of course she did. It was just a centuries-dead language that only stuffy old professors cared about, so why wouldn't she? And the lip-bit grin on her face said she was just so damn happy about it, too. "I had a tutor."

     It suddenly made sense why Roy had him digging through ancient history, and he was going to print up his report in quintuplicate, bind it in iron, and use it to hammer that jackass into the floor. Worse, if Roy already knew how fast the girl could find out what a person was doing and where he was, any chance he could get off this detail was gone. He was officially fucked.

     Except not literally. Eew.

     He added this to the list of complaints he was going to lodge the next instant he saw Roy's annoyingly handsome face (because he had no intention of saying thank you as long as Roy was pulling the puppetmaster thing on him) and pushed one of his piles down the table at her. "Great. Knock yourself out. You see anything interesting, let me know."

     "What are you looking for?"

     Without looking up from the chart he was sketching of component-centric passages versus action-centric passages, he grumbled, "Common phrase groupings. Alliteration, maybe. Definitely any grammatical quirks."

     "O... okay."

     Like he could explain how to crack alchemical codes to someone who wasn't an alchemist. And if she had been an alchemist, they wouldn't be having this conversation because he last thing he wanted was random alchemists getting in his business and studying his cryptographic techniques while he was mixed up in anything Roy had planned. That was just asking for trouble.

     Fucking _Roy_.

     This had really, seriously better be of some use, somehow -- because five chapters on the finer points of disagreeing with other elected officials on the taxation of wheat and a big, sheep-shit pile of nothing on his decryption attempts later, it was very nearly pleasant to hear the red-headed intern's chatter breaking up the tedium. Insights on why anyone cared about the political theory of a long-gone civilization, commentary on who'd joined whose bowling league, who'd had a baby shower, and (possibly relevantly) what kind of fight she'd heard Levochkin had had with his brother up North. Didn't matter what she was saying, as long as it wasn't in freaking Kyrian.

     And didn't involve his mind wandering off to contemplate getting stuck in another ice cream truck with Roy -- not that Wednesday's debacle following Fieseler to the grocery store could've been an accident. Winry had to have been involved in rigging that latch.

     "Edward?"

     Katya tapped him on the hand, and he nearly jumped. "Huh? What was that?" She'd said something, but his brain had gotten sidetracked somewhere between the strange letters on yellowing pages and the image of that bastard's perfect but insufferable nose haunting him from the other side of a wall of Choco-Blast bars. At least yesterday, it'd been Roy's cheekbones he'd been stuck on, which was halfway normal to find attractive. Who liked noses?

     "I was wondering if it was true that the Brigadier General was seeing someone."

     "_What?!_ No!" he yelped on reflex before his brain could give his mouth any directions. "Wait, which Brigadier General?"

     "Don't be silly," Katya laughed. "Brigadier General Mustang. You'd know, wouldn't you?"

     "Is he ever _not_ seeing someone?" Clearly this girl hadn't been around long enough to know that Roy going out with somebody or other was the rule, not the exception. And she had better not be asking because she wanted her shot at him. Not that he _cared_ who Roy dated, or that Katya was way more up Roy's usual alley than he was, he thought as he scratched out where he'd accidentally written "wheat" in his verb table. But still, she'd better not.

     Whatever she was actually saying passed by Edward's ears without his thoughts latching on, and now he'd just managed to _misspell_ "wheat" while adding it to the nouns. Where the hell had his ability to focus gone since he'd gotten back? And he definitely didn't want to talk about the Colonel lollygagging with women. Period. Especially when the superhumanly well informed intern should've known better than him who'd been the Girl of the Week this past...

     Wait. Hadn't Friday been Roy's traditional 'date night' back in the day? And that was the night _he_ and Roy went--

     "This isn't happening," he muttered, scratching his hair into a rough mess and smoothing it back from his forehead. Nothing but nothing was going to make him hope Roy was off the deep end enough to try stealth-dating him behind his own back. It was as stupid as stupid ideas got, he was smarter than this, and he was letting himself in for pain if he went there.

     And self-reminders that he'd look like absolute crap in a miniskirt.

     As if to emphasize whatever he hadn't heard her say, Katya shook her head so firmly it sent her curls bouncing. "No, that's definitely what Claudia said. He turned her down."

     The hell? Turning a girl down? That was like some bizarre alternate reality Roy, and the universe needed to snap back to making sense right the fuck now. He'd invested way too much in this being the reality he'd been born in.

     Edward tried to scoff, '_Are we talking about the same Roy Mustang?_', but all he got was a choke in his throat that he couldn't cough out. Instead, he winced with the distinct feeling that his voice had just turned into a rock on a string and dropped into his stomach.

     "...Very nicely, she said -- and he turned down Yvette, too, last week, and before that it was Marjorie, but Claudia was the one who asked if there was someone special. That is, she told him people were saying there must be, and that whoever he was seeing must be pretty."

     People needed to not ask Mustang out on dates if only so rumors like that didn't get to the point where he could hear them. It was against the rules of _life_ for the Colonel to have a steady girlfriend. If that bastard was willing to get serious about someone, it just meant _he_ wasn't good enough for--

     When his pen skidded off his paper onto the table, he realized that at some point the phrase, 'introduce the motion' had transformed into 'int-ROY IS A FUCKING MORON'. He scribbled over all the text until all of it was blacked out and the impressions on the papers below it had been obscured, then crumpled the list into a twisted-up ball tight enough to ring when he hit the trashcan. He'd messed the whole thing up anyway.

     And pretty. He hadn't even thought of that. If that was the criterion for dating Roy, then he was definitely out. Not that he'd wanted to be in, but he was still about as far away from 'pretty' as he could imagine. For no particular reason, Edward started organizing every word in chapter six of his book into alphabetical order. With a frequency chart. It might not help break this theoretical code, but it gave him something to think about that wasn't imagining the Colonel out with someone particular, right under his nose. The dry-mouthed, nauseous ache stealing over him after hearing the suggestion wasn't conducive to getting real work done.

     Could he make Roy feel like this if he ever agreed to go out for tea with Katya? Not that it was worth giving her more of his time just to find out the answer was probably no. He picked up his thermos lid and took his last swig of water, keeping his eyes on the cup so he didn't have to look the girl in the face. "So what'd Roy have to say?"

     With a puzzled sigh, she answered, "He said, '_Thank you_'. No one's quite sure what he meant by that."

     "As the resident expert in Roy-speak, I'd say he meant, '_Thanks for thinking I'm so hot, I should only date hot people._'"

     "Well, the older girls are a little sad, but I think I'm happy for him." She drummed her fingers on the workbench, chin perched on her other hand. "It's lovely to find someone, isn't it? My mother always tells me, 'With sophistication and persistence, you can have anything you want -- but if you find the right partner, you can have _everything_.'"

     "No one can have everything," he muttered, flipping over a page to see if he had any more luck with the next one. "Everyone gives up something to get what they want, even Roy Mustang. If there's a girlfriend, though, he sure as hell hasn't brought her around the office."

     Rubbing a knot out of his flesh-and-bone shoulder, Edward considered the merits of crumpling up the paper with alphabetizations and chucking it into the trashcan like unchewably burnt toast crusts. On the other hand, he could finish it and make Roy read the damn thing as punishment. Tough call. All he knew for sure was that there couldn't be a girlfriend. Or possibly a boyfriend, since the Colonel, logically, had to be bi to have been checking him out. He hadn't been paying attention, so he might not notice a Somebody himself -- _or care_ \-- but Hawkeye would know if Roy were serious about--

     On second thought, he wasn't pursuing that, because it led straight back to Mystery Person being him, and he was still rejecting that premise as a bad idea.

     Because it was.

     Why couldn't he have something interesting to distract himself with instead of dusty directions for running dead city-states?

     "My brain's fried. I hereby declare this _lunchtime_."

     "I brought croquettes, with soba and a salad," Katya declared, pulling the lunchbox off the table with all talk of Roy's love life blissfully forgotten.

     "I saw. Thanks." He wasn't sure if he could eat it, since the conversation from before had given him a pretty severe stomachache, but that'd pass. It had to. Roy was not allowed to ruin his appetite with his fake, absolutely impossibly perfect girlfriend -- because if she did manage to exist, she'd have to be perfect, or Central's biggest playboy wouldn't have tied himself down. Stupid Roy. And stupid Assignment Girl for making him think about it.

     She was just so _young_. It made him want to tell her to get as far away from the military as she could before she found something that made her grow up -- and it made him wonder how much shit Roy had shielded him from back when he was looking for the Philosopher's Stone. He thought he'd seen the worst people could do. With everything going on and everything he'd poked his nose into, it shouldn't have taken three years to find out he was wrong. He wouldn't have listened, though, no matter what anyone tried to tell him. And once the Colonel was done cleaning up everybody's messes, maybe this government wouldn't be such a bad place for a clueless intern.

     When he stood, he saw a grey-haired figure waiting in the door with a stare more furious than the notch a bullet had cut out of his ear. "General Hakuro. Long time, no see."

     Katya cleared her throat, pushing her bangs forcefully to the side. It looked almost like a salute, but she was a civilian. Civilians weren't supposed to...

     Right. Saluting. He drew himself up to attention and cocked his automail hand at his forehead, and Hakuro returned the gesture.

     "At ease, Lt. Colonel Elric." The older man brushed over beside his table, pausing to indulge in some silent contempt for slightly longer than Edward thought was necessary. "I see you're busy with your extracurricular activities," he said finally, with a look down his nose at the red-headed intern. "An apple never falls far from the tree, does it?"

     If Edward could have figured out whether Hakuro was accusing him of skirt-chasing (like Roy -- at least, past tense) or making a hobby of surveillance shenanigans (also like Roy -- present tense included), he'd have cooked up some witty retort about how hilariously wrong he was, with a side order of embarrassing the General for using a cliche that should have been about Edward's father (whom Hakuro could never have met). His father might have been a skirt-chasing, obtuse jackass, but he was an entirely different kind of skirt-chasing, obtuse jackass from Roy Mustang.

     On second thought, if Bloch had just figured it out now, someone as thick as Hakuro probably didn't know he was supposed to be spying on people, which made the 'skirt-chasing' thing more likely. And screaming, '_I'm gay, you numb-wit!_' at the top of his lungs would probably mess up his assignment with Katya. Just a little. Plus, the General was always looking for something to get Mustang in trouble, and Internal Security was theoretically under Hakuro's control. He'd be damned if he ended up the knife that cut Roy's throat.

     "I'm on assignment, actually," Edward growled. He shoved a stack of his handwritten notes in Hakuro's face. "Miss Hawker has been assisting me with my research in her capacity as an expert on Ancient Kyrian society. I'd _love_ to fill you in on the details. _Sir_."

     The general retreated half a step away from the charts full of squiggly, foreign words. "That won't be necessary." He turned toward Lt. General Bloch's office, glancing twice more at the paper with suspicious hesitation. "Carry on."

     Edward didn't budge an inch until he saw Hakuro disappear behind Bloch's door. "That is just too much brass for a Saturday."

     "Did he just call me an '_extracurricular activity_'?" The girl looked actually ruffled by it, too, as she stared after the closed door.

     Roy would probably take her arm and tell her some drivel about how pretty faces shouldn't frown, and it'd probably be the highlight of her day. He figured stuff like that fell on the wrong side of the 'dating' line, though, whether he could make it work or not. Instead, he pulled on his coat and made for the door. "Don't fuss about Hakuro. He doesn't like me, that's all."

     The light clip of her shoes echoed off the floor as she ran. She was still pulling her sweater on when she got to his side, balancing the lunchbox in one hand. "Why wouldn't he like you? Everyone I've spoken to says you have a brilliant future."

     Whatever _that_ meant.

     "Damned if I know. One minute he's all, '_Thanks for saving my life, kiddo -- here, let me sponsor you into the military!_'" Edward answered, slamming the door to the lab shut behind him. Katya giggled into her hand at his gesticulations, so at least he didn't have to worry about making her feel better anymore. "Next time I turn around, I'm bad for his rep."

     "He should be proud to have sponsored you, and he should definitely be nicer if you saved his life."

     "Whatever. He just happened to be on the train when me and Al were saving it." Which was Roy's fault to begin with. As if he needed more reminding that the Colonel had been there in his special, asshole way since Day One.

     He stopped hearing footsteps and turned around to see the intern staring at him with her eyebrows furrowed. "Alphonse-kun? But wasn't this ten years ago? He'd have been _five_. I know you were eleven, but--"

     "It's not that simple," he answered, making a mental note to ask Al how he'd explained being fifteen to last year's examination board when, a decade ago, he'd been a six-foot suit of armor with ten-year-old cognition. That must have been fun. He'd want to get their stories straight before talking about it to anyone.

     The girl zipped up to him with an apologetic bat of her eyelashes. "I'm sorry. Is that classified?"

     "Um. Yeah." Man, had conversations with her gotten easier when he'd realized she'd drop any topic he said was 'classified' faster than a cat with a hot potato.

     "_Wow_." Then he counted the silence for six steps down the hallway before she said, "I know this is sort of changing the subject..."

     Which he didn't mind. What he minded was that five to seven steps worth of silence always meant she was asking him on a date. About three was, 'You won't believe what happened today!' Ten meant she was about to ask, 'How was your day?' and he should think of an amusing but harmless anecdote. If it was five to seven, though, he had to prep a way to say, 'Sorry, I'm busy' without incurring Roy's mockery.

     "... You see, a friend of mine won some vouchers to the ice skating rink tomorrow, and she's got an extra. Would you like to come?"

     "Ice skating, huh?" Winry's modifications would keep him from freezing or having weight distribution problems, but he didn't want to put his parts inside a tight-laced boot any more than he wanted to spend the day at the rink (even if running off with the girl and her friends would make Roy jealous, which it probably wouldn't, and he'd meant not to think about that anymore!). Blaming the automail, unfortunately, would probably put him in violation of the first rule Roy had given him: 'Thou shalt not make the girl feel like she's been insensitive'. If the Colonel knew a way to say, 'Sorry -- metal leg,' that didn't make people cringe, he'd never shared it. Luckily, he had convenient Sunday plans.

     "Sorry. Al's throwing the Security department a party at our place tomorrow, for that commendation thing we got for that Drachma business. I'll be setting up in the morning, and it'll probably go late." With a snicker, he added, "You could come, but I guess you're busy," imagining shoving his own nonexistent girlfriend in Roy's face. Serve him right. Except that the Colonel wouldn't care, since it wasn't possible the man was seriously interested in him. There was no way. And he'd still have Katya _at his house_.

     As soon as he realized the girl's footsteps had paused, he looked back to see her clutching the lunchbox to her chest with her grey eyes shining like silver.

     Shit.

     "Gosh. I can ask Marjorie if someone else can take my voucher. I might be able to go."

     _Shit._

     "Oh." He pushed open the door to the cafeteria while he stalled for something appropriate to say. "Great. Well, it's at noon. Don't worry if you can't make it, but... yeah. Noon. My place."

     "Okay," she answered in a higher tone than normal, then bit her lip and finished, "... I'll see what I can do."

     Shit, shit, shit!

     This had to be at least three different kinds of Roy's fault, even if he wasn't sure how yet. Once that bastard was done saving the country, he was dead meat.

~//~

     The Elrics' house was a charming two-story affair, with a porch and a view of the woods across the street -- an easy half-hour's stroll from Roy's own townhouse, including a quick stop by the baker's for a party offering. Alphonse's invitation had been the perfect excuse to visit, despite the cold pinch of the winter morning, but he should have done this earlier. It'd been too long since he'd dropped in on friends with no reason, no notice, and no plans.

     Shifting the basket of apple muffins to one arm, he picked up the knocker and rapped three times.

     And waited.

     Odd that Alphonse wouldn't be waiting in earshot. Edward might ignore him, if he felt so inclined at the moment and knew who was at the door, but not Alphonse. All the same, there was no answer, and January winds bit even more while standing than when walking. Roy checked his watch while he waited for an answer at the door. It was 10:03.

     Miss Rockbell had said ten, hadn't she?

     Roy drew up the knocker again, and between the first and second strikes heard Edward call out, "Just a second! I'm coming!"

     As surely as he could feel the tip of his nose freezing while he heard the latch click, he knew he'd been set up. Again. Even the armload of apple muffins wouldn't make his excuses for not double-checking with Fullmetal himself...

     ...who had his hair loose in damp waves about bare shoulders, a towel and an oil can hanging from his hand. Wearing trousers, thank goodness, but otherwise quite... exposed. And _dear God_...

     "_You!_"

     Had he never seen Fullmetal with his shirt off? How could that be, after years of explosions that routinely shredded his wardrobe, and after living in close quarters for a month? But he would have _remembered_.

     A shining metal arm shoved him in the chest, although Roy's eyes were caught by the gleam on his skin. "I have had it up to _here_ with your asinine machinations, you _miscreant cock-jack_! I don't _like_ politics, I don't want to _read_ politics, and I definitely don't want to _study politics for a girl_!"

     From the drape of his shirts, Roy would have sworn Edward had a smoother, slighter build, not that kind of definition. Damn it. Why, in the name of all that was just and holy, did society require clothing? Even with the pale scars edging his automail and ten years of fading blademarks -- aesthetically, he was flawless.

     "Are you even listening to--" He was vaguely aware of a muffin tumbling from his basket and the soft thwack of Edward tossing his towel over the scarred seam of flesh and metal on his shoulder. "Roy?"

     Edward pushed up on the bottom of his chin, and Roy's breath stopped in a panic as he saw the flush fading out of Fullmetal's cheeks over the scowl twisting his mouth. "HQ to Roy Mustang! _Calling Colonel Eye-Contact._"

     Well.

     This was embarrassing.

     He'd been raised better than that.

     "Fullmetal. Good morning."

     "_Hi._"

     "I'm sorry." He picked up the fallen muffin from the porch while he gathered the resolve to look up on his own terms. Thank goodness for paper wrappings. "I seem to have misremembered the time of your party."

     "Your memory's not the problem." Before he could say another word, the blond whipped around and stalked back into the house. Roy tried to look anywhere but the curve of his spine disappearing into his waistband. He had to have enough will power for that. "Get the inside and close the door. It's fucking freezing out there."

     It was hard to believe this was the same Edward Elric who'd yell the roof off the office if he accidentally stared too long or said the wrong thing -- the blond strode off toward the staircase at the back of the room without a single accusation. Harder still to believe he'd ever been the tiny boy who'd looked so helpless in his stained bandages, unconscious and bled as pale as the bedsheets where he lay. The brash gait of a child who couldn't stand to fail had mellowed into the more measured stride of a man who'd learned how to pick himself back up.

     Dropping a glance down at the floor, Fullmetal paused in the middle of his march out of the room. "It's just me here. Al and Winry went out shopping." Like a cello plucked out of tune, all the scattered thoughts dashing through Roy's brain knotted into one wordless hollow in his gut as Edward, apparently, decided not to go upstairs after all. He leaned against the back of the couch instead, the light catching on the clean cut of his still criminally bare torso. No one could have asked for a better replay of Roy's schoolboy follies before he'd learned how to book a hotel room. Only then, it'd been an invitation he'd been meant to take advantage of.

     The sarcastic wrinkle of Edward's nose needed no translation. He could practically hear the young man's raw tone trumpeting, '_What's your problem?_' in his head. Roy couldn't fathom any possibility that the blond alchemist was enough of a cocktease to understand how that simple phrase, '_It's just me here_,' had sounded. And yet he was now painfully aware of the thrumming of his heart and the prick of heat rushing back too fast into his frozen fingers and toes, thanks to the reminder that he had the house and Edward to himself. He pulled off his hat and gloves and laid them on the table by the exit as he unbuttoned the top of his jacket. At least he could set himself partway to rights by easing the sudden heat under his collar.

     As he did, a large, dark tabby wound his way out from the other side of the couch and walked up to sniff Roy's shoes. He didn't like what he found, if one could judge from the suspicious slant of his eyes when he turned his head up. Roy had seen cats look dissatisfied many times in his life, but never so markedly as now. It was as if the animal knew what Roy had been thinking about, and thought he should take a scrub-brush to his mind before coming within three feet of the blond.

     "He's allowed, Cat. Be nice."

     The strained moodiness of Edward's voice was as out of character as his frozen posture. If only Roy could rewind this Saturday about fifteen minutes and erase from history every mistake he'd just made -- but the world would be a very different place if he had that power. Instead, he'd make do somehow with having his hands full of outerwear and a basket of baked goods weighing him into the floor, while an accusatory cat marched away to confer with a friend who now wouldn't look up to meet his eye. He tried not to imagine that the cat wanted to get rid of him, and to convince himself that the distraught yowl was anything but a complaint about his intrusion, but there was too much possessiveness in the way he brushed back and forth against Edward's legs to let the thought go.

     "Yes, that's Roy Mustang," the blond called at the animal. "I know you've heard me talk about him, so deal with it."

     Uncanny, really, how the surly feline cast a glare right back across the room at him before he trotted out the far door. Enough to throw a chill down his spine, as if he weren't uncomfortable enough. But he had to be imagining all of that. He certainly wasn't going to ask Fullmetal if there was a reason to think this cat would dislike him. If the answer were, '_Because I made a cat that can understand what I'm saying when I complain about work_,' they'd open themselves up to a whole new world of problems.

     At least he could safely rule that out. It was beyond unlikely that Fullmetal ever would have taken up with chimera.

     Casting about for anything he could say to reclaim the conversation, and perhaps his dignity, Roy found himself surveying the bookshelf-lined staircase running the length of the back of the room and the doorway cut out of the right wall near the landing. That was one thing he had to stop right away. There was no reason for him to be looking for escape routes in Edward Elric's house. He wasn't running anywhere. Breathing in slowly and pushing his shoulders back, he asked, "You named your cat, '_Cat_'?" with a deliberate cock of his eyebrow, and dripped a generous helping of teasing over his tone to hide his nerves.

     Fullmetal still didn't spare him a glance, all attention on the oil he was spraying into his elbow as he leaned against the couch. "Al named _that_ cat 'Boots'," he said, and scanned the floor and steps until, turning his head over his shoulder, his eyes settled on a puddle of white fur sleeping on a coffee table. "That one's Hijinx. Ella's around here somewhere. They're _also_ cats."

     If he'd upset Edward enough that he wouldn't rise to a little sarcasm, then he had a more pressing problem than figuring out how to move his feet from where they'd rooted themselves in the carpet. He'd somehow broken through a bout of cold shoulder on their mission in the mountains, but he'd be damned if he knew exactly what had done it. He didn't want to put Edward or himself through another week of that.

     And yet the young man stayed in plain view to look after his arm, pressing the tip of the oilcan to his wrist and flexing his joints, letting it coat all the metal and carbon fibers. It was hardly a surprise that he kept his gloves on at work and never treated his automail in public, but he'd made it clear on their trip together that he'd wanted real privacy -- always taking his oilcan to the furthest, darkest corner and turning his back -- which Roy had obliged by finding some notes that needed more reviewing. Assuming Fullmetal was actually upset with him, and it seemed a safe assumption, the scene he'd been allowed to watch felt like a kind of physical question.

     '_Do you really want to look at me like that when I'm part machine? To touch someone where he's got steel and chrome instead of skin?_'

     Then again, this was more a demonstration than a question. He could have said 'Yes' to a question. If Roy himself had ever wondered what his answer would be, now he knew. Right now, it definitely didn't matter.

     As Edward oiled all the forged plates and bonded fibers, Roy found himself marvelling at how human he seemed. Even though he knew better, it was too easy to see some untouchable, uncorruptible paragon. But this wasn't the Fullmetal Alchemist standing in front of him. This was Ed, with his feet turned together and his shoulders hunched up around his ears -- stripped of his usual storm and drive, definitely suffering from more than unwanted attention from someone he'd never hesitated to criticize.

     And Roy didn't know what the hell he could do about it, besides stop caring. Which he wouldn't do.

     "So did you hear a word I was saying out there?" Ed's voice cut through the silence lingering like blast dust in the air.

     He'd caught some of it. Asinine. Politics. Girl. That was more than enough to know what Edward was complaining about. Naturally the blond had realized the basic concept of Roy's plan. While always competent with patterns, Fullmetal was particularly adept at working out the ingenious ones. "I was under the impression you wanted a less romantic pretense for talking with the young lady. Was I wrong?"

     "You're a jackass."

     He swept at some dust on his trousers with his hat and laid the thing on top of the pile of paper-wrapped muffins that suddenly seemed so silly. "Yes, well. We knew that already."

     If he had to guess from the spurt of oil that overshot his wrist to leave spatters on his hand, the admission had caught Edward by surprise. The blond looked up at him at last, letting Roy deliver his very best unapologetic smile. The hint of a laugh edging a put-upon sigh was just the sound he needed to hear. Ed was still braced like a statue against the couch, even after he set the oil and towel down by his foot, but he kept looking Roy in the eye. "I told you to come in. The closet's there," he said, nodding at a door to the left of the entryway, then cocked his head at the door by the foot of the stairs. "Kitchen's that way. Stop standing there like a bellhop."

     His feet obeyed his command to step toward the kitchen as if Fullmetal's eyes had cured some kind of paralysis. "Don't mind if I do," Roy replied, feeling a deep breath enter his lungs as he walked.

     The Elrics had a pleasant little kitchen, he noted, full of the odd scent combination of thyme mixed with pet food. He set the basket down on a long counter to the left matched with two barstools whose pine wood was a complete contrast to the cherry table and chairs to his right. The bookshelves along front wall, naturally, were the same oak as the ones in the parlor. But it was all very pleasant, down to the vase of fresh daffodils sitting on the table in complete defiance of the winter outside.

     And he would have a pleasant visit, despite his colleagues' ceaseless attempts to throw him headlong at an unwilling Elric.

     And despite the suspicious stare offered by the tabby Fullmetal had called 'Boots', now hunched over a bowl of kibble by the wall. He clearly had no intention of taking his ire elsewhere. Why he'd been named Boots was far from clear, as the dark fur on his legs went unbroken all the way down his feet. Roy's most pressing concern, however, was narrowing his own gaze at the creature's yellow-green eyes to see if he couldn't explain that he _wasn't going anywhere_.

     The cat had showed no sign of flinching by the time Edward bellowed, "And in case you didn't know, Bloch and Fieseler can tell you're watching them!"

     "In what sense?" he called out, not shifting an inch.

     "In the sense that they're fucking _onto you_, Roy!"

     He'd long known that Fieseler suspected him of general unscrupulousness as a matter of course, but under the circumstances Ed's observations on Bloch's attitude could give them an opening. And the fact that he was staying in the kitchen right now was in no way because he was still needed to calm down or because he was nervous about going back to face Ed again, Roy told himself. It was because he had important business. Some might have ridiculed his engagement in staring down a housecat, but his efforts were more than justified when the animal scrunched up his nose and surrendered the match. He was still undefeated.

     Although he did have to wonder why Fullmetal didn't leave to finish dressing. Surely he wasn't the kind of company who couldn't be trusted or who needed to be entertained constantly. He could be left alone for the few minutes necessary to find a shirt. But Fullmetal was staying, and he couldn't hide in the kitchen forever.

     The scowl on the blond alchemist's face when he walked out answered his question, and painted an entirely honest grin across his lips. Unless he was mistaken, Edward had forgotten in the middle of his temper that he was half naked. A reminder might be polite, Roy considered as he strolled over to the closet, given that company was coming. But then again, if Ed didn't mind, he certainly didn't mind. And Alphonse would probably come home in time to mention it before the rest of the party arrived.

     As he set his hat on a shelf and tugged his coat off his shoulders, his fellow alchemist tired of waiting for the response that wasn't coming and finally explained what had happened. "They were calling me your 'eyes', okay? Trying to find what you're after. What do you want me to do, huh?"

     "Exactly what you have been doing." Clearly, his trickiest suspects had their own eyes pointed in precisely the direction where Roy wanted them.

     With his coat securely on a hanger, he felt oddly warmer than he had before he'd taken it off. Roy clicked the closet door closed and leaned up against it to admire the renewed energy in the blond's fury, glaring amidst he shafts of sunlight that broke through the window curtains to dance over the room.

     "Are you shitting me? Just let them think I'm spying for you? That's your plan?!"

     "You can't have forgotten what I told you about reacting to suspicion. If you run when they cry foul, you... Well. I won't be able to pass your actions off as innocent."

     The murmured grumble from behind the couch was hard to make out, but it sounded like, "It's not me I'm worried about."

     "A little faith, Fullmetal," Roy asked, wandering around to look at the shelves on the wall opposite the kitchen. He'd always wanted to see what kind of private library the Elrics would manage, and while he and Edward had seemingly settled their awkwardness for the moment but before anyone else showed up was the best possible time. A few old classics, none of their personal journals downstairs, but a truly startling collection of titles on beech trees that no doubt showed the Tringham's influence on Alphonse. Lying askew on top of the whole shelf, a few well-worn board games, as well. "You were always going to be too noteworthy to conceal. We're using the inevitable to our own advantage -- anyone who wants to take this country away from me covertly will go after you overtly, one way or another. Just stay in eyeshot and earshot, and I'll clean up any mess."

     "Oh," Edward answered. "Well, why didn't you just tell me I was bait? I can't give you the answers you want if you fucking _withhold information_. You need to know who's after me besides the people chasing rabbit-holes, too, right?"

     He tried not to be too sure of his own plans, but as someone who'd been a careful man for many long years, Roy knew exactly how Edward Elric had to look to their mastermind -- especially now that he was anything but a child. Even a mad fool would see him as a threat or an opportunity. Maybe both, but never neither. With a sigh, he took a seat in the chair across from the couch, judging that the best way to get through this conversation without giving in to the urge to kiss the blond's breath away. "That would be lovely."

     "Then let's start with Hakuro showing up in R&amp;D to get in my face yesterday. That, and Katya visiting my house," he added with a scowl. "But you _knew_ she wanted me -- thanks _so much_."

     "She's _visiting_? Why--" Roy was across the floor before he realized he had even stood up, and it was only the way Edward pulled back when he rounded the couch that made him remember himself. A commander had no place scolding an operative for a good strategic position, and his personal feelings weren't welcome here. Breathing in and out for a count of four, he made sure to keep his head the next time he spoke. "I wouldn't ask you to see her outside of the office. Did you find some reason to think it was a good idea?"

     "No! It was an accident," the blond grumbled, turning his back as his grip on the far corner of the couch tightened into a white-knuckled fist. "She'd said she had plans for today. I didn't think she'd drop them like a week-old newspaper."

     So she'd be here for the party, where he'd have to watch as she chased down Edward, whom he himself had ordered not to turn her away for the sake of world peace. Somehow, he'd survive that without developing an ulcer. Somehow.

     Wandering closer, he reached out for Ed's shoulder, but the young man twitched his whole arm forward and away as if he could sense Roy's hand an inch off his skin. He dropped his fingers to the couch back where Fullmetal's had been a moment before, trying a joke to lighten the mood. "Well, not much harm in one day. Although I think Havoc now has to eat his hat -- he was sure you'd make it the whole mission without telling her your address."

     Edward whipped around, practically nose to chin, and snarled, "I didn't have to tell her! She knew! She's terrifying! Besides, no one who's gonna be here ever says a damned word that isn't encrypted. I don't see why you care."

     As the blond stalked away again and took a rough seat on the couch, Roy shot down the first six reasons to leap to mind that he should care. He couldn't and wouldn't treat Edward differently than anyone else to whom he'd given a mission. If he started doing that, he really would need to transfer the man out of his department or risk losing objectivity when a tough call came down. With a careful weight on his tongue, he struck a fist lightly on the couch. "I... I ask a great deal of anyone under my command, Fullmetal. I never want to ask more than you're willing to give." The stone-still figure set on facing straight away from him made no move to acknowledge when Roy down beside him. "But you're right. She's nothing to worry ourselves over. Now, can you tell me what brought General Hakuro to the Research department?"

     He settled a few inches away on the couch, at what he hoped was a non-threatening distance, and turned to face Edward with all the considerable attention he could muster. If he had to play every conversational trick he knew to make his companion more at ease, he would. Twice if necessary. Although he had to grip his hand tight on the furniture to remember that his instinct to touch the other man or run fingers through his drying hair would backfire.

     Finally, Edward sighed, the tense height dropping out of his shoulders like a car on popped tires. "Old Prickle-Pants didn't say why he was there. He just called me a miniature you, was a dick, and then walked off to talk with Bloch behind closed doors."

     Roy wondered if the blond could hear him smiling. He couldn't have helped breaking into a grin if he'd tried -- the idea of the bull-headed, tempestuous Edward Elric being described as a copy of himself was ridiculous, and the rise of his friend's ears betrayed a nose wrinkled in distaste that Roy couldn't see but had memorized in all its insubordinate charm. Ed could definitely sense his amusement somehow, because he startled in his seat as soon as it struck and twisted around to furrow his brows.

     Which only made Roy's smile broad enough to ache. He held Edward's glare and the laugh threatening in his throat just long enough to see the corner of the blond's mouth twitch into a smile as well. "I'm sorry," he quipped. "The General called you _what_?"

     "I know, can you believe it?" After doubling over in silent laughter for a few seconds, his companion caught his breath, dropping his metal arm over the back of the couch with his fingers curling back a few inches from Roy's hand. "He's such a sap. I don't know how he got promoted." Old habit and long practice conspired, and Roy found himself staring and studying every movement the blond made while he talked. From the way he bit his lip to stop himself laughing to the odd way Edward cast his eyes down to the floor as he finger-combed his hair back into order. He would have called it 'shy', but Fullmetal had never been that. Of course, he was more accustomed to seeing those gestures over a nice dinner and a bottle of wine. And the lingering glance Edward shot at their hands, stretching out his fingers as if he might want to touch... Peeking at him out of the corner of his eye, then looking down again before tilting up his chin to look Roy in the eye...

     Was he completely out of his head, and just seeing what he wanted to -- even though Edward had told him time and time again there was nothing to see at all?

     Roy was suddenly too aware of his own breathing. He might not have an ascetic's control over his response to a lively gaze through the cover of blond bangs, but it was entirely inappropriate to get caught up in fantasies when he needed to be listening to Edward's report. Although, if Edward developed a habit of pulling up his leg on the couch, leaving himself open to a touch Roy wouldn't risk and settling his foot between Roy's seat and the back cushions, they might need to have a talk about how not to accidentally tease your commanding officer.

     Tomorrow.

     "Fieseler was after rabbit-hole stuff, like you said, but I didn't get anything from Hakuro except that he doesn't like me."

     "I'll make a note of--"

     "Mrrow!"

     The weight of two paws fell on his leg, and in a blink a golden cat who'd appeared out of nowhere jumped up on his knees. She kept mewling at him with concern written all over her face, as if she thought the world would end if he didn't notice her. "Hello there," he answered, trying to keep her mostly disentangled from his shirt as she attempted to climb onto his shoulder and butt her head into his chin simultaneously.

     "Stop sweet-talking my cat, Roy!"

     Edward reached up to pull the tiny creature off his shirt, though she complained bitterly in a plaintive little series of squeaks. "I only said hello," Roy protested. As soon as Fullmetal had her in hand, she tucked herself against his chest, and Roy wiped away the wet spot where she'd rammed her face against his jaw. "I take it this friendly little lady is Ella?"

     "Yes." Edward pouted and, even though he played at clutching her away, Roy managed to scratch her head. He simply had to be careful not to let his arms drop too close when he leaned in. "And she's a boy," the blond said, rubbing the cat's chin. "Aren't you, Mister?"

     "I beg your pardon?"

     Just at that moment, a key turned in the lock.

     "Well, Al's--"

     But the sound caught more than Edward's attention. The golden cat's ears perked up, and she... or he... launched himself off Fullmetal's shoulder toward the door. And as every action had an equal and opposite reaction, before he could think, the force of the cat leaping left Roy with a young blond pressed against his chest.

     His arms clasping Fullmetal's waist might have been his fault.

     Roy felt he couldn't be blamed, however, for the white cat bounding a split second later from the coffee table to his own shoulders on his way to greet Alphonse. As such it was absolutely no one's fault that, while the entire house echoed with the sound of tiny feet scampering with a thunder he wouldn't have thought such small beasts could make, he was on top of Edward Elric, nose to nose on the cushions, feeling the blond's heart hammering against his chest.

     "--_home_," Edward said in a choked murmur.

     "_That's odd_," he heard Alphonse say from outside the door. "_I'm sure I locked it before I left_."

     Roy heard it, but all of his attention stayed fixed on the fan of golden hair that still smelled like shampoo, and the fact that he couldn't move his hands without feeling smooth skin that trembled under his touch. But he couldn't stay like this.

     _Get up_, Roy commanded himself, forcing motion back into his limbs as he tried to lighten the atmosphere. "The entire Drachman army couldn't touch us," he scoffed, "but _two housecats_\--"

     He'd only managed to draw up his head before he froze again, far enough to see that Edward was blushing like only a blond could. His voice fell away. The young man drew his other leg up, the automail joint now pressing against Roy's hip... This wasn't a position two people fell into because of cats' intervention, not really. You had to be aiming for it. He'd take his share of the blame for that, but was it so far-fetched to think Edward had wanted him all along? And it was almost six years ago, but he still remembered -- the last person who'd looked at him with eyes like that had been saying, '_It's my first time..._'

     But then, he could tell that Ed was a--

     _Oh, dear God. I deserve to be shot. What the hell am I thinking?_

     Once he took a breath to clear the delusions out of his head, he could feel the slow pull of the other man's muscles under him, tenser than a tightrope and drawing closer in as if Edward were trying to fit himself into a ball in the corner. But he couldn't, either because his limbs wouldn't answer him or because Roy was still in the way -- or both. Never in his life had he imagined Edward Elric would lose himself in a panic over a simple collision. Ed was a physical person, more likely to swat than to shy away from a touch. Roy knew that from experience.

     Why this? Why now? He would've said Fullmetal hadn't been upset anymore, about anything that had happened today. Was he thrown, Roy had to wonder, because it was _him_ and not because it had happened? His protege had made it painfully clear that he'd noticed Roy looking and didn't appreciate it. But if it was his arms that were so upsetting, why was Ed gripping them tighter? The clench of his hands on Roy's upper arms actually hurt, and his head was tucked under Roy's chin as if he were asking to be held closer.

     "I'm..." Roy breathed, wrenching what sense he could out of the mess of questions that didn't have answers.

     The word '_sorry_' choked in his throat. He hadn't been prepared for any of this, and that only meant that somewhere, somehow, he'd made a serious error in his judgment either on Fullmetal or about their relationship, which he had to find and correct as soon as he could. But he couldn't manage the words, '_Tell me what's wrong_,' either, and he couldn't remember the last time his entire body had felt his heart beat like this.

     With a stuttered breath on his neck, the blond head now tucked under his chin quivered. "You shaved this morning," Edward said. Roy couldn't tell if the low voice was accusing or surprised. He only knew that, for the first time in his life, he was considering growing a beard if something about his personal grooming habits was that much of a shock. All he'd have to do was successfully campaign to change the military's policies on facial hair, which had to be easier than changing their policies on using alchemists as weapons.

     As Fullmetal leaned back on the couch arm, eyes closed and seeming to breathe a little easier, Roy heard him whispering, "..._is a million nine hundred nineteen thousand seven hundred sixty one times thirty-six million one hundred ninety-two thousand two hundred sixty-nine, which is_..." It didn't occur to him that it might not be wise to lay his hand on Edward's shoulder until he felt the blond tighten his grip on Roy's shirt, then heard Alphonse make an incoherent squeak from the doorway.

     Roy lifted his hand off again and pulled himself decidedly away from where he'd pinned Fullmetal against the couch. "Maybe it's best if I go," he declared.

     The blond's grip on his shirt fell from his shoulders to his chest while a murmur of, "..._is seventeen times fifty-three_," faded and Edward picked up in his normal voice. "You don't have to."

     "_Ah..._" Alphonse backed away onto the porch with the cats circling his legs. "Wow. Umm. Okay. I'll just leave you two... to... ah..."

     "Al, what's the hold-up?" None other than Miss Rockbell herself pivoted the frozen Alphonse like a second door and walked through to the kitchen. "Geez, guys. Get a room."

     Edward scrambled up against the back of the couch, yelling after her. "That cat pushed me into him. I mean, him into me! _Nothing happened!_ And who told him the wrong time for the party so he'd show up when I was in the fucking shower, _Winry_?"

     Leaning back through from the kitchen, the girl took a long look at the two of them _in not quite flagrante delicto_. "Hmm. Yeah, I'd say my work here is done."

     "_Winry!_" Alphonse squeaked from the front door.

     All composure regained, Fullmetal pushed past him toward the stairs and despite his bare feet stomped up each step with a hit heavy enough to make the cats' race for the door sound whisper quiet by comparison. "Excuse me. I have to go put on a _goddamned shirt_."

~//~

     Alphonse shook his head in a blur, eyes full of a dread more urgent than Hawkeye had believed he could feel. "No, no! I really think we should focus on making them talk about their feelings! Trapping them together is no good!" Winry had told her a bit about why Edward was still locked in his room and Roy was sitting by himself playing checkers against a cat, so perhaps it wasn't so surprising. No one liked to contradict Alphonse anyway, not when he was that vehement. All the same, everyone around the Elrics' kitchen table -- none of whom had yet thought of a way to make either alchemist say anything productive -- sipped their hot cider in puzzled silence.

     She wandered closer to the doorway and peeked in at Roy in the sitting room. Alphonse's request was just as well, since she didn't _want_ to remind their cabal -- again -- that handcuffs would be ludicrous and dangerous, and most importantly would be as ineffective as every other form of physical restraint, but if she did have to do so, she'd rather the Brigadier wasn't in earshot. "You can't actually take the move from B4," he was telling the big, dark cat sprawled on the table on the other side of the board while a smaller golden cat snored in his lap. "There's a jump from H2. All jumps are required. Here..." As he moved his opponent's pieces, the cat stood and stretched, wandering off toward the stairs, but Roy showed no sign of giving up his game. They'd be safe for the moment.

     "Al's right," Winry added from her perch by the counter, peeking over her shoulder at the Brigadier General. "They're both freaking out way too much."

     "And also we _just can't do that_!" the younger Elric pleaded.

     Sighing over the notes he'd crossed out on his napkin, Fuery shook his head. "But we have to make sure Edward-kun and the Brigadier General will stay in the same place long enough to finish a conversation. Isn't there some kind of metal no alchemist can transmute, or something your brother and General Mustang won't blow up?"

     "No, Lieutenant, there's really not," Alphonse answered, dropping his face into his hands. Then, at a sudden knock on the door, he sprang to his feet and ran, yelling, "I'll get it!"

     They all scanned the faces crowded around the table: Havoc, Breda, and Fuery sitting with Alphonse's abandoned chair, Falman leaning against the corner of a bookcase while a white cat with a duck-shaped toy in his mouth stared at them from one of the shelves, she and Winry closer to the door. "Isn't everyone here?" Lt. Breda asked. "Colonel Armstrong had family commitments, right? And Schieska-san was stuck in a book?"

     As a room full of people murmured, a girl's voice echoed across the house. "Oh, thank you, Alphonse. I'm so glad I could come at the last minute like this."

     Capt. Havoc dropped the unlit cigarette he'd been spinning. "You gotta be shitting me."

     Hawkeye was fairly sure they all knew whose violently teal coat she could see Alphonse hanging in the closet. The red-head hurried past without noticing the Brigadier -- who'd frozen completely to his chair -- and flounced straight into the kitchen with her basket of muffins, each tied with a ribbon matched exactly to the lavender of her dress. "Congratulations, everyone. You did such a wonderful job working out the border situation. Marshal Levochkin said it was like a miracle. I brought muffins," she added with a smile, twirling towards the counter. "Edward loves--"

     From her post a few feet away Hawkeye could see the girl's hands tighten into panicking fists and a frown settle in on her face. "Someone already brought muffins," she mumbled, then snapped her eyes up at Hawkeye. "Are they apple? They look like apple."

     Hawkeye nodded silently. Everyone else in the room was actually holding their breath as they watched her, and Roy was shaking his head into his hand.

     "Oh, _fiddly-grimpets_!" She turned a more decisive frown at the basket already on the counter with a huff, pushing it further from the edge to make room for her own. And if her ears weren't lying, Hawkeye thought she heard the girl whispering, "Well, those look store-bought. At least mine are homemade." When she spun back around, her smile was glued back in place. "So lovely to meet you all. Did... Edward step out?"

     "I'm sure Nii-san will be down any minute," Alphonse answered, stepping through the door. "Everyone, you've heard of Katya."

     The heavy silence continued as they all nodded, and Hawkeye made a mental note to apologize to Edward for thinking he'd been exaggerating.

     "Katya, this is 2nd Lt. Fuery, Lt. Breda, Captain Havoc..." he went on, pointing around the table while the officers waved. "Lt. Falman, Captain Hawkeye, and Winry Rockbell."

     Winry stepped around Hawkeye to offer the girl a shining, fake smile. "I can't believe Ed's letting us meet you."

     "I... I didn't realize Winry was a girl's name. _You're_ Edward's mechanic?"

     "And childhood friend," she added with a wink.

     "Y-you must be very close, then."

     "Only about as close as a girl can get." Inspecting one of the be-ribboned muffins, Winry giggled at the young intern's slack jawed horror. It'd seem a potential rival was more upsetting than duplicate baked goods. God only knew what she'd do if she found out about Roy. "Oh, relax," Winry laughed as she brushed past toward the door. "I'm like his sister." The girl's sigh of relief, however, only lasted until she thundered, "_Hey, Ed!_" up the stairs. "If you're not down here when I count to three, I'll start showing your baby pictures! _One!_"

     A door slammed upstairs and the screech of shoes on hardwood rang through the house.

     "_Two!_" she hollered, a blur of blond and black barrelling down the staircase as the dark cat scurried for the coffee table.

     "What the _fuck_, Winry?!" He spared half a blushing glance for Roy cleaning up his checkers game, and then went right on yelling. "What the hell is the problem?"

     "You've got a guest, Ed." She stepped aside, breaking off a bite of the muffin while the intern smiled and waved as if nothing were out of the ordinary. "Why don't you give her the two-cens tour and then find her something to drink?"

     Edward's hair was unbound and scrunched up into a mess on one side, with a red mark from sleeve buttons on his cheek -- and while he'd found a plain black button-down shirt to wear, it was completely untucked, his belt nowhere to be seen. Worst of all, he looked as though he were staring right through everyone without seeing a thing. Then, in a blink, he shook off the symptoms (if probably not the mood) and plastered one of his more painful grins to his face. "I thought you weren't gonna make it," he said, then pointed upstairs with an ungloved automail hand. "Why don't I show you the library?"

     Unexpectedly professional, Hawkeye thought, blinking at how fast he'd picked up his part.

     The girl floated up the stairs with her heels barely clicking against the floor, and reached up to smooth out the mess of Edward's hair. "Did you fall asleep studying again?"

     "Something like that!" Jumping up a stair, Edward pulled his hair back into a rough braid. When he whipped around, his and Roy's eyes met -- he hesitated for an instant, but only an instant. Before Katya could catch up to the stair behind him, he pushed off for the second floor with a gruff, "Let's go."

     Hawkeye studied the blank mask of Roy's face as the young man walked away, with the girl nearly sticking to his back. His good eye kept following the sound of their footsteps past where the stairs themselves would have blocked his view. If she knew anything about the man, he'd clean up his mess. Her job was to make sure it didn't get any messier.

     Stepping back in towards the table, she joined the other officers waiting for Edward and Katya's voices to disappear out of hearing range.

     "Your hair looks so nice when it's down."

     "It gets in the way."

     "And it's important to rest properly on a proper schedule to be your best," the girl's voice echoed out of the top landing. "I make sure to always get four whole hours every night..."

     Capt. Havoc rested his cigarette over his ear, sharing an awkward frown with everyone else who'd been considered for seduction duty. "So. What're we getting the boss for his birthday?"

     "Something he'll like," Lt. Breda offered.

     "I recommend wrapping up this project." Hawkeye pulled her notebook out of her jacket. "Now, where were we?"

     "You were deciding that handcuff scenarios have outlived their strategic usefulness," Roy Mustang announced from the doorway. Normally, Roy wouldn't have been that indiscreet, but Hawkeye supposed he was trying to make a point.

     He walked over to the lavender-bedecked basket of muffins and pulled out a magnetic compass, circling it slowly -- the same compass he used to look for taps placed in his desk. She hadn't known the girl was a suspect, but better safe than sorry if he meant to break code. Satisfied that the muffins were simply muffins, Roy slipped the device back into his pocket. "We've absolved half the council that way, but the rest need deeper surveillance. Also, Hakuro is back on your list."

     "How about I go see if Ed's okay?" Winry asked, sneaking out the door. "You all sound like you've got this covered."

     The Brigadier General leaned up against the pantry and crossed his arms across his chest with a placid smile. "Thank you, Miss Rockbell."

     "I was sure General Hakuro was clear," Falman murmured, shaking his head and screwing his eyes shut as if scanning through every memory stored in his brain.

     "And yet he's sniffing around Research on a Saturday when he oughtn't be there in the first place. He's a suspect."

     Roy had to know deeper investigations would leave them pressed for man-hours with General Hakuro back on the list. They couldn't afford to prioritize him over someone as established as Marshal Wright or as connected as Lt. General Bloch. Of course, it was difficult to prioritize anyone when the entire room was trading silent, nervous looks instead of bringing their ideas to the table.

     "Please, gentlemen," Roy urged. "You can't have thought I didn't know what you were doing."

     Stepping across the kitchen, Hawkeye reminded him in her sternest six-inch voice, "Brigadier General, sir. I believe the men are holding their tongues out of respect for general protocol, wherein we provide full deniability should you be called to answer for your presence."

     "I'm confident that Fullmetal can be surprised and indignant enough for both of us," he commanded the room from his idle lean against the pantry doors. "Now, your plans?"

     Capt. Havoc cleared his throat and shuffled his eyes around the room Hawkeye moved back to where she could keep an eye on the door. "Ah, well. We're settled on getting the Brig and Ed onto Major General Saulnier's football team, right?" The Brigadier listened without a single twitch of a muscle to say if he approved. "There's solid locker room potential..." he continued, jumping up as Alphonse's head fell with a thud onto the wood. "For conversation! Talking!" He waved his hands in a blur, shifting his attention back and forth between Roy and the younger Elric. "We'd just been saying how we think you two, you know..."

     "Should talk?" Roy offered. "Novel concept. Definitely make that your focus." Hawkeye bit her lip to keep from smiling at the unmistakable tone of a man asking why anyone was giving him advice on romance. Of course, no one had expected him to be cooperative. "The new season begins recruitment on Tuesday, correct?"

     Breda raised his hand. "I checked the league's rulebook yesterday -- no automail. Too much risk for busted equipment, broken bones... the usual. And good luck getting the boss to play waterboy."

     "Too bad," the Brigadier mused. "That's an excellent approach to the Major General. Captain Havoc, didn't you always want to play football?"

     "I'm more of a stickball man than a..." After two seconds facing down Roy's stare and pleasant smile, he amended his words to, "Yes, sir. Wouldn't miss try-outs for the world."

     "Excellent. Next?"

     "I know!" All eyes turned to Fuery. "There's a lady officer on Major General Defiant's staff who's been planning to invite the Brigadier General to the indoor couples croquet game! If we arrange a misunderstanding there, where General Mustang and Edward-kun have to _pretend_ to be--"

     "_Veto_." Hawkeye shook her head, cutting off the Lieutenant before Roy turned the suggestion into Fuery himself hiding inside a cake. "Too complicated." Not to mention that the croquet game wouldn't offer the level of infiltration necessary for Phase 2 surveillance.

     The sound of high-heels clicking down the stairs drew an irritated wince across Roy's face. "And I'd say we have enough of a fake love triangle already, wouldn't you?"

     The intern whisked through the door, beaming. "Edward said he'd be another minute. And his friend, Winry? She's so _mature_." Hovering over Alphonse's chair, she bit her lip and asked, "Do you think Edward would like it if I pierced my ears?"

     Sometimes, when Alphonse winced, Hawkeye thought the resemblance between him and his brother shone through more than ever. "Gosh, Katya. I don't... You know, I think Nii-san would like you the same no matter how you looked."

     They were going to have to come up with a different code very quickly if this intern was going to be about. Sorting out Edward Elric and Roy Mustang's lack of an affair was all very well, but the young lady chirping, "You're so sweet, Alphonse," had a mission objective riding on her as well.

     "He's quite right, Miss Hawker. You don't need to change a thing."

     There was a subtle change in the posture of a woman of any age the first time she heard Roy use that tone. Her shoulders dropped as her back tightened, although sometimes (like now), she didn't quite manage to hide a tiny shiver running down to the base of her spine. Then her knees pressed together, one heel or the other popping up as she turned her toe ever so slightly in. It was astounding. Hawkeye had seen it at least a thousand times and the only variation was in how much they blushed.

     This girl was crimson, as if she'd stolen all the color from the stricken faces of the officers around the table. Well, they never had believed her when Hawkeye had explained that Roy really couldn't help doing that.

     "I thought Fullmetal must have been embellishing his stories about you, but I can see already -- you're everything he said and more."

     Although _that_ was perhaps laying it on a little thick.

     For the first time this afternoon, the young intern seemed to have no idea what to do with her hands. As she turned around, eyes flitting from Roy's head to his toes and back up again, she settled on twisting a bit of hair around her finger. "C-colonel..." Her breath caught and she covered her mouth. "Brigadier General Mustang... I presume?"

     Roy was actually flirting. He hadn't moved away from the pantry, but that tilt of his chin were famous for a seemingly magical power to draw girls in like they were on a tether -- present target included. But he hadn't shown interest in anyone but Edward in months, and _this_ girl wasn't one he'd try to charm.

     Unless he was plotting something.

     "Edward hasn't made me out to be too much of a monster, I hope."

     Just as she started shaking her head furiously, the blond alchemist stalked into the room, his hair now up in a perfect ponytail, and scowled at the scene of yet another lady succumbing to the Flame Alchemist. Stomping twice as loud, he marched right between them on his way to the pot of cider on the stove.

     The girl blinked herself out of her trance and immediately looked around as if she wasn't sure how she'd ended up on this side of the kitchen. The steaming mug Edward pushed into her hands seemed no less confusing. In fact, she looked completely flustered by everything up until the moment Edward snarled, "_Behave yourself_," at the Brigadier General and stalked off into the sitting room. She looked from the cup to the General to the swaying ponytail, and dashed off after the blond as fast as her legs could go. Roy couldn't have looked more bewildered if someone in the room had found a signed confession from their mystery mastermind and a promotion to Fuhrer all in one big envelope stuck in the mail slot on the door.

     _Good lord, Roy. Did you actually think detaching her from Edward would make him happy if it was you she got stuck on?_

     As she watched, a certain Brigadier's confusion eased into a smirk, then broadened to a full smile. He trailed off behind the blond and the red head, pausing at the door to laugh, "Carry on," at the assembled officers before he walked away.

     Havoc's face looked permanently frozen with his eyebrows in his hairline. "Tell me the Brig didn't just get the hot socks. _From Edward Elric_. Who's been trying to get out of dating that girl for a month."

     Only Alphonse calmed down as if he'd caught on. Sighing, Hawkeye clarified for the rest of the room, "Brigadier General Mustang noticed that Edward would rather stay involved with the girl than watch her date him. That's a good thing. Shall we get back on point?" She pulled her notebook back out and scanned down her list of plots, coverage, and problems. Really, aside tailing General Hakuro -- which would have to wait until tomorrow -- intelligence on Regional Affairs had the most gaps. "Alphonse-kun. General Fieseler. Any thoughts?"

     The alchemist shook his head to indicate that he hadn't found an opening yet. "I'll get you something before I leave for the Tringhams on Friday. I do have these, though." He laid two mauve slips of cardstock on the table. "Lt. General Bloch is inviting Nii-san and Brigadier General Mustang to a concert this Thursday. Nii-san won't want to go, but if I deliver them that night, he can't pretend to have the flu."

     "Worth a shot," she answered. With Roy in the General's box at the concert hall for an evening, Bloch would either have a cell or a clean collar within two weeks -- assuming none of the alchemists blew up the orchestra pit.

~//~

     All day, Edward had been revelling in glorious freedom. So far, no bullshit set-ups with Roy, no study sessions with Katya, and best of all no briefings with the brass about Earth, Alice in Wonderland, or subatomic pseudo-particles. For the first time in over two months and seven years, there was nothing but him and the research he _wanted_ to do. He could have wished Al had time to work with him, but his brother was going up North now that the coast was clear. He had to shop, and pack. Sounded kinda questionable, really. Edward had never had trouble with throwing a suitcase together in fifteen minutes. But all the same, he was on his own with his books at the end of the day.

     Winry had left the tattered box of charred manuscripts by the foot of his bed before she'd gone back to Resembool on Monday. He'd have to write her a thank-you note for that. A decade ago, he'd probably have been pissed that she and old Pinako had gone through the house he'd burned down for what could be salvaged, which was probably why she'd held onto them this long without a word. Books full of diagrams and script copied out by hand who the hell knew how long ago. And they had all his memories burned into their covers -- of Al toddling around, of their mother waiting to see what they brought home next, and tell them how proud she was. He'd tried so hard not to think about all that, no one could have blamed him for crying, but instead he'd stayed up half the night playing '_Do you remember when...?_' with Al. Today, he'd finally worked up to reading something.

     It wasn't that bad. And now that he'd been around, he had so many more thoughts to bring to it than all the hundreds of simple, straightforward guesses he'd bounced off his brother back in those days.

     The turn of the door handle echoed conspicuously off the walls. Sounds always changed after 5:30, when everybody had scuttled out the door and there were no flurried rushes to dampen them. Every shuffle of paper or click of a pen cap rang like you were sitting inside a bell no matter how quiet you tried to be, and Roy opening the door was no exception.

     It had to be Roy. Everyone else had gone. And maybe a twenty-something brunette down in Legal had waylaid the Flame Prettyboy, but he wouldn't have left without his coat -- the cold, clear sky and the broken-stair creak where automail met bone said it'd snow tonight. Roy never mistook the weather.

     He fought off the urge to shy away when the Colonel met his stare and smiled. "You're here late, Fullmetal," he said, shucking off his uniform jacket.

     "Lost track of time." He pretended to have some kind of organization to do at his table, just so he could find the voice to ask the questions he wasn't even sure he wanted to ask. If he were watching while the man settled in at his desk and unbuttoned his collar, he wouldn't have been able to get the words past the lump in his throat. "What about you? I figured you had a date."

     An easy chuckle cut through the silence weighing down on Edward's shoulders. "And who, pray tell, did I have a date _with_?"

     As he turned around, he could feel Roy's eyes on his back. If his skin wouldn't stop tingling no matter what, and his stomach kept flip-flopping just because the man had walked into the room, there wasn't much point in avoiding eye contact. Sure enough, the Colonel was looking questions at him and ignoring the papers in his inbox. "What's-er-name in General Defiant's office. _You were seen._ I told you I don't suck at this sneaky stuff."

     "Her name is Hadley, Edward," Roy scoffed. "And she did make a very nice offer, but no. I had to decline."

     "...Oh." He'd known there hadn't been a Someone when Roy had pulled that stunt to get Katya off his back, _not_ that he'd asked for that kind of help. No matter how much the man messed around, he didn't break promises -- but that didn't preclude something casual. Hearsay being what it was, Edward had decided there must be extenuating circumstances. Conflicts happened, and the Conspiracy Circus _did_ have them scheduled three ways to hell on a Tuesday. But watching the Colonel shuffling and sorting work that could wait instead of charming an officer Edward had been informed was very good looking for a woman, there was no chance of that. Mr. Balance the Job and the Girl actually wasn't dating.

     He didn't even know why he cared. There was nothing to be gained by wondering why that bastard did anything. It was good that Roy wasn't getting distracted by flirting, right? When he stayed to work after everyone else stepped out the door, he could bust through his to-do list so fast, there was still time to eat dinner at a respectable hour. Compared to the goofing off he did while the sun was up, it was like...

     Well. Like night and day. Sometimes, Edward speculated that between being an evening person and having no one to go home to, Roy liked staying late to finish his work in quiet.

     "Are these your essays on Kyrus?" As the Colonel flipped through the pages, scanning them at his usual hyperspeed, Edward tried and failed to ask what he really wanted to know about all the non-dating lately -- '_Is it for me?_' But when Roy looked up he had to stop thinking and start trying to pull his heart out of his throat.

     That was stupid, anyway. Roy Mustang wouldn't go celibate as a plot to get his attention _and then not tell him about it_. There would have been a memo at least. Possibly a parade.

     "Fullmetal?"

     "Kyrus. Yeah." Edward had left that earlier, hoping to annoy the bastard in the morning when he saw his inbox wasn't as empty as he'd left it. He would have deserved it, too, if he'd run out with What's-er-name without his work done and without his coat. But that was moot now. He shook the half-formed questions out of his head and traipsed over to the visitor chair by the desk. "I put in a section on self-contradiction within the system, too. They would have been more solid if they hadn't emphasized a ruling class." No point in telling him there was nothing more to implicate Bloch, or to clear him. He'd gotten past the coded bits already.

     "Excellent work. I hope--"

     "Roy..." The fact that he had the other alchemist's full attention and the full amplification of late-night acoustics made the worn crack in his voice ten times as embarrassing as it would have been otherwise. But he was in, now. He might as well get answers as long as there were no witnesses. "_Why_ aren't you dating that girl? Or... anyone, anymore?"

     With a shake of his head, the Colonel went back to the reports. "That my own affair, Edward."

     "Right. Because you've ever butted out of anybody's love life." He leaned over, eyes right to the edge of the papers, waiting until the bastard glanced up at him. "I don't want to wonder who you are and what you did with _my_ Roy Mustang when I've barely settled in someplace I'd like to think is home."

     The Colonel lowered the papers to the desk and considered him with the most infuriatingly blank expression Edward could imagine. "Well, in the interest of sustaining your grip on reality, then. I date because it's pleasant to spend time with someone. If I'm not in the mood to spend the evening with that person, it defeats the purpose, wouldn't you say?"

     "I wouldn't know," he answered. "All the people I ever liked don't need to ambush me with theater tickets." Stepping back, Edward hooked the chair with his foot and dragged it closer to the desk. "Mind if I stay and read?"

     "Not at all."

     He dropped into the chair, twisting up his face at the manuscript Roy was still reading. There hadn't been any new developments with Bloch, Levochkin, Fieseler or anybody. It didn't make sense to go through the text that closely. Was Roy _actually reading_ his commentary on distributing governmental power to keep one or two crazies from running amok? What difference did _that_ make?

     Flipping his book open to his last marker, Edward studied the man's face in silence. He could claim he'd been studying Jaros's appropriation of ghost imagery for 'the voices of the Unanswered, Unresolved, and Unredeemed' the whole time.

     "I'll review this again tomorrow, Fullmetal. There were some points worth expanding, I think, starting with how..." Roy flipped back a few pages while Edward puzzled over why the man was suddenly so specific in his requests for bullshit. "... 'certain arrangements of domestic infrastructure may serve to promote peaceful international relations'. But there are several other hypotheses I'd like you to develop further as well."

     "Okay."

     "And I hope you don't mind that I plan to distribute copies."

     "Whatever. I don't care." Lt. General Bloch was going to pitch a fit if he didn't get a copy of his final report anyway. Edward slumped down and held his book up higher -- where it'd be harder for the other man to look him in the eye and where it'd block him from looking at Roy. That wasn't why he was staying. He was staying because Al was busy at home, and one of them would inevitably get in the other's way.

     "New book?"

     "Old book."

     Standing up from his chair, the Colonel walked over to get a proper look. "Your own research?"

     He snatched the text and his hand to his chest, and pushed the chair squealing away over the floorboards. "You're the one who said I'm not allowed to work after 5PM, _Roy_." He'd been extra careful not to come into physical contact with that bastard since the Incident on Sunday (which technically hadn't been Roy's fault, but it wasn't like anyone else could be blamed for Edward getting turned on). His nervous system had been shot half to hell for five days now, and he was pretty sure the clenching, racing pulse in his chest wouldn't stop until he managed to forget having Roy's arms around him.

     The Colonel had been giving him his space, too. No playing with his hair, no leaning over him to check his work. It was weird, and a little distracting, to tell the truth. Right now, Roy had backed off and leaned on the desk corner, but the distance seemed to screw him up more than Roy's presence had before.

     Dropping a hand to his desk with a forced grin, the other alchemist answered, "I support thinking about other things. Just... wondering what you're working on."

     Served Colonel I'm-Always-the-Coolest right to not be working on the awesomest thing in the room. He'd flip when he heard, Edward was sure. Laughing through bared teeth, he asked, "You really want to know?"

     "I'm all ears."

     "Then can you tell me _why_ elemental reconstruction works? Splitting up compounds -- sure, fine, whatever. But what lets you turn so much sodium," he said, pointing his fingers from one side of his chair to the other, "into so much copper? Or vice versa?"

     Roy leaned on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "That's like asking why exposure to a magnet will polarize something, Fullmetal. No one has come close to knowing more than that it works."

     "_Except me_."

     "If you say the word 'wavicle', I will suspend your access to the _Central University Journal of Transmutation_ for a month."

     Flipping to the first marked page in his book, Edward groaned, "Take it easy. I'm just saying, on the other side of the Gate, they can't restructure atoms. And it's damned impressive what science thinks up if you sit it down with a locked box and no key for three thousand years. Analyzing out subatomic bits. Clocking weird crap they do. Particle teleportation, action at a distance, although that might be total bullshit... But if I told you I think I could make a filter that turns heat directly into electricity--"

     "-- I'd ask for your research notes so I could be sure the universe wouldn't disintegrate when you clapped your hands." With a smirk, the Flame Alchemist unbuttoned his cuffs. "Keep talking," he said, rolling up his sleeves.

     He'd never liked doing research with anyone but Al, but how could he say no to that? When you got right down to the bittersweet gritty details, the man was fucking brilliant. Not that he'd ever admit it to Roy's face. Stilling the trembling in his jaw and looking for his voice somewhere under the pulse pounding through his throat, he focused on the passage he'd marked out. "I've been digging through works on the genesis of transmutation circles. Whatever's acting as our key to atomic reconstruction, it's gotta be there. So listen to this."

     He cleared his throat and read out, "'A thing that is infinite and eternal hath no qualities, since it hath all qualities. This nothingness or fullness we name the pleroma. ... It is quite fruitless to think about the pleroma, for this would mean self-dissolution. Creatura is not in the pleroma, but in itself. The pleroma is both the beginning and end of created beings. It pervadeth them, as the light of the sun everywhere pervadeth the air.'" When he glanced up, Roy looked like his eyebrows were trying to shoot off the planet into outer space. "Roy, what the hell is that face for?"

     "Fullmetal. What are you reading?"

     Flipping the book shut, he glanced at the etching in the leather cover that the burn marks could obscure but not destroy completely. Not that he had to look. "It's Jaros. Seven Sermons to the Dead. Why?"

     "The Seven Sermons to the Dead supposedly copied individually, by hand, to give only to members of his inner circle -- and I say 'supposedly' because, as you've clearly not spent any time in academia, all works by Jaros have been lost for centuries, causing modern scholars to debate whether the man was a myth entirely?"

     "Oh." He opened up to the title page and looked at the inscription more closely. _Written out this day the eighteenth solstice of our acquaintance by Jaros, under the auspices of phoenix and ash, for my friend and comrade, Hohenheim_. "Umm. Probably." When Edward looked up, Roy had his evil smirk on. He was pretty sure he couldn't have gotten the Colonel out of his business now if he'd wanted to. Which he didn't, really, want to. This was fun. "I might let you read it when I'm done," he said, holding up the slim, leatherbound book.

     Roy walked over and drew his fingers along the top of the cover, drawing in a sharp breath. "We _should_ hand that over to the library to make a facsimile edition." The man's eyes said he didn't want to, though.

     Fine by him. "Let's not and say we did," Edward answered. Academia could find their own lost copy in some ruins somewhere. And it was lucky he'd said it before Roy's hand had trailed over to where his was holding the book. So much for remembering to avoid contact. Automail wasn't supposed to have the synaptic capacity for a touch to send shivers up his spine like that. Was there such a thing as phantom arousal?

     Without giving him a chance to catch his breath, the Colonel leaned in, braced on the arms of the chair. "All right, then. And Fullmetal..." He seemed to be trying to say something, but stopped before the words came out and shook his head with a dazed grin. Standing up and grabbing the back of the chair, Roy dragged Edward -- furniture and all -- behind the desk without a care for the screeching and stuttering of wooden legs against the floor.

     "Hey! What the hell?!"

     The chair came to a stop next to Roy's, and the other alchemist pulled a stack of scratch paper from his drawer. "Tell me everything," he said as Edward scooted the chair up. "Everything you've worked out so far, all of it. With diagrams."

     Not how he'd expected to spend his Thursday night, but he wasn't going to complain. For the first time in a week, the strange mix of jitters and fascination he seemed doomed to suffer around Roy Mustang wasn't destroying his ability to think. Maybe there was something to be said for acclimatization. "Okay," he said, twirling a pencil around between his fingers. Notation was hard to forget when it was the language of what he saw around him everywhere, but he wasn't as much of a whiz at it as Al was, and so far he'd only been brainstorming.

     "For starters," he said, sketching out the mark of the Crucible across the cradle of the circle. "On the subatomic level, matter really does have no temporal qualities in actuality and all qualities in potentiality. Substance becomes insubstantial, and the visible world forms out of configuration. So I want to address configuration directly, not through macrocosmic manipulation."

     At the top of the circle, he scratched the symbol for gold, and across the major diameter drew antimony, sketching out the continuum of the material world from noble to base. "If we can show this as reduced to constituent parts--"

     Roy drew his finger across the imaginary line between them. "I know it's not traditional, but if you pair up each element with its prime solvent, I think--"

     "I think you're right." Twinning up gold with aqua regia and antimony with aqua fortis, Edward studied the overall balance. That sure was 'reducing everything to constituent parts'. It could work. "Screw tradition anyway. It's probably trying to _prevent_ us disrupting the fabric of reality."

     "Fullmetal, on behalf of everyone who lives in reality, thank you for telling me what you were doing before you decided to do it."

     He laughed at the Colonel's pointed sarcasm with a grin taking over most of his face. "No sweat."

     It felt like no time had passed at all before the desk was strewn with dense, scripted pages of notes, half-drawn and annotated circles, and arcane lists of factors neither of them were sure could be relevant, but weren't determinately irrelevant either.

     "I'm telling you! The pleroma and the subatomic structure are distinguished by the same thing! It's like he says here -- 'The Effective and the Ineffective. Fullness and Emptiness. Living and Dead.' _In balance_. What's the big objection?!"

     "Philosophically, I don't disagree with you," Roy shot back, raking the mess of his hair into a slightly less obtrusive mess with ink-stained fingers. "What I'm saying is that I've never seen someone actually use the Major Seal of Abraxas as an activation principle. The crown point adaptation is more stable--"

     "I know what I'm doing!" His pencil whipped around the edge of the new circle, jumping from the figure for Rebirth in Destruction across the Bend Dexter to the figure for Absolute Potential.

     "Then I assume you have a reason for drawing this out of order."

     "Yes." Edward put his last strokes down emphatically before starting in on the next quadrant with the figure for the Necessity to Deconstruct. "It's the right thing to do. If Planck can square an operator, so can I!"

     "I see. You're using it to activate the array, but as a component, too."

     Even as he finalized the figure for Potency to Change at the top of the Bend Sinister, he could see the ramifications coming out of the design. A thousand options for mutating the shape, altering it for a thousand different ends played out in his head faster than he could name them, but it was like Roy was saying -- they were all too volatile. There was no way he could test this. Trials always meant explosions, and everything he'd studied on Earth said explosions on this level would be bad.

     Very, very bad.

     With a sigh, Roy traced around the outside of the whole mess. "I don't like the concept of tapping directly into a pure force of change without any controls."

     "Yeah." He pushed his legs against the desk, balancing his chair on two points and drumming his pencil on the arm rest. "But it's mathematically impossible to have certainty when you're working with subatomic particles. Like, the more you know about position, the less you can know about velo-- Wait a second."

     Roy was watching him patiently with that silly smile on his face again. It was weird, but he knew he could make his pulse stop racing, even though the Colonel was standing inches away, looking hotter than ever with his oddly mussed hair and shirtsleeves in disorder. He just didn't need to. The passages he was flipping through made perfect sense, and all the focus he'd been missing had snapped into place.

     "It's right here, above where he addresses how, 'The operation of the whole is Abraxas, to whom only the ineffective standeth opposed.' The two composite forces unifying the creatura. See? 'Eros flameth up and dieth. But the tree of life groweth with the slow and constant increase through unmeasured time.' That's classic duality between volatility and determinacy."

     "So it is, now that you mention it."

     "Yeah, now that I mention it, it's freaking obvious. I have definitely been away from alchemy too long." Root sigils for each arcanum went on either side of the minor diameter, if he was seeing this right. One for Logos, and one for Eros... "We should be able to lock the two into a proportionate ratio. The burning force preserves vitality, the growing force keeps matter itself from being consumed."

     "That doesn't sound pleasant."

     "Seriously. One mistake, and kaboom! No more Central City."

     "Let's not do that, shall we?"

     "Working on it." Creating the lock was the tricky part. The two figures had to link into one, and while he could draw the tree of life with his eyes closed, Eros arcana had always been more trouble. "Damn it," he muttered, pencil coming to a halt as he drew the first lines of the salamander's tail. "I hate this. It's like _statistics_. It just feels like guessing."

     Roy took the pencil from his hand, sparing a moment to lean into his space and murmur, "Far be it for me to leave you with nothing but a guess against the utter annihilation of reality." The older alchemist sketched out a set of graceful, curving lines without a moment's hesitation -- from the winding tail to the lizard's fire melding with the end of the tree figure at the center of the circle.

     He stood up to examine the whole array more closely. "I guess there's a point to keeping you around."

     "Not to belabor the obvious, Edward," the man answered, brushing some of the hair out of Edward's eyes, "...but I _am_ the Flame Alchemist." His reflexes didn't snap into place like always, and while he stood there staring he realized he was letting Roy trail his fingers down his cheek. He could only figure he was learning to like it more when the Colonel touched him, which wasn't the way he'd wanted to go.

     Edward pulled the hand off his jaw, just an inch, meaning to let go, but they both ended up jumping back when they heard the hall door slam open beyond the outer office. A second later, pounding footsteps reached the inner door, and it flew open. "Nii-san!" Alphonse yelled. From the red-faced exhaustion and the panting, Edward had to wonder if he'd run all the way from home.

     His brother trotted over to the desk, leaning on the edge. "Nii-san, what are you still-- Holy shit!" Almost as soon as he'd caught wide-eyed sight of the array they'd sketched, he clamped a hand over his mouth, then drew it down slowly. "Sorry. That was rude."

     "I'll fill you in."

     "Please! I mean... later, please. Do you know what time it is? You were supposed to be home for dinner!"

     "It's not that late, is it?" But sure enough, the sky outside the window had gone ink-black and the stars were all twinkling. "Shit. I'm sorry. Nothing happened, did it?"

     Once he'd caught his breath, Alphonse pulled two mauve slips out of his pocket and dropped them on the desk. Then he backed away toward the door, talking too fast for anyone to get a word in edgewise.

     "It's an invitation from Lt. General Bloch, so there's really nothing to be done. You know, duty calls? And he did ask for you two specifically. Sorry I can't stay and talk! So much to do! Have a nice night!"

     "Al! What the..." The door closed with a slam and the pitter-patter of running feet faded into the distance. Well, he didn't need to ask what'd just happened. It looked like his long-awaited, hard-earned night off had just gotten overwritten by yet more spying and shenanigans. Of all the goddamned times to get called to action for the covert good of the nation, right when they were on to something interesting. But the big question was, what did he and Roy have tickets for this time?

     According to the fancy print on the off-lavender stock, it was a violin concert. Great. Because he'd ever cared about the melodic frequencies of catgut stretched over wood and resonated with horsetails. Couldn't the generals on the council ever want to go to a street festival with stilt walkers and hot dogs on sticks? Straightening up one of the piles of scrap paper, he found himself a clear view of the clock on the Colonel's desk.

     The concert started in _less than an hour_.

     "What the hell, Al! you could have given us these before you left work!"

     "And give you time to excuse yourself to the Lt. General directly? I think not." With a heavy sigh, Roy's eyes lingered on the circle they'd just barely started to crack. "Well, duty does call," he murmured, and fished in his top left drawer for his comb and a little bottle of brilliantine.

     "I'd rather work on this array," he muttered. "Do you think they'll let us skip the concert if I kiss you?"

     Roy's comb clattered on the floor, echoes bounding all around the office, and Edward tried to beat down the sudden heat rising in his cheeks.

     Crap. He'd said that out loud. He hadn't even wanted to be thinking that. But as Roy stood up from picking up his comb again, and as he stepped into Edward's space to block him against the desk, he had trouble getting his mind onto anything else. Also, if that smirk was Roy's pre-kiss face, then a lot of his embarrassing dreams had been really accurate.

     "That's a _fascinating_ conjecture, Fullmetal." The blood rushing past his ears was so loud, he was surprised he could hear anything, but the man's whispers came through perfectly anyway. "Would you say more about that?"

     "What?!" In the back of his head, a voice was telling him, '_If you run, you won't be able to pass it off as innocent_.' He just had to play this off. And even though it felt like his pounding heart had consumed his chest and he couldn't find the space in his lungs for a breath, he found a way to keep talking. "We don't suspect Bloch that much, do we? So this has got to be about 95% set-up, 5% business, tops! Ergo, we make them think doing research with you is more likely to turn me on." Which, as a sidenote, it was. "Why would they make us go to a concert instead? I might be willing to kiss you for science."

     As he swallowed and tried to calm down -- which Mustang was not making easy with the way he let his stare stray down to Edward's lips and slowly back up in silence -- he remembered who's advice that'd been. Roy's. Damn it. Was that bastard's trick good enough that he'd fall for it himself? Or was he just digging himself deeper into a hole? And Edward wasn't sure how much longer he could stand here without being able to breathe.

     But if he could smell that cardamom scent of the Colonel's aftershave, then he wasn't not breathing. And the other man's face was close enough now that he could smell it clearly. Hell, he could taste it. "I shouldn't need to remind you that Lt. General Bloch is, in point of fact, a prime suspect, nor that your brother said this was an invitation from the General himself. We'd have to go no matter how much I turn you on." With a damned cocky smirk, he added, "_Theoretically_."

     "They might stop planning stuff like this anyway. It's worth a shot."

     Why wasn't his mouth listening to his brain before it started blabbing?! He wasn't trying to talk Roy into this!

     Wasn't talking Roy into this the last thing he wanted to do?

     He froze in place with the edge of the desk cutting into the small of his back, awareness that the man was _right there_ clenching up every muscle -- except for some blasted reason his stupid jaw, which let his lips part instead when Roy's nose brushed past his own. And then he just stopped there. Teasing him. That asshole.

     "And would you be willing to kiss me if it weren't for science?"

     The correct answer to that question was _definitely not_ to close the millimeters between them and keep convincing the Colonel they didn't need to go anywhere, so it was probably for the best that he couldn't make himself move. And if the right answer wasn't 'Yes,' then...

     "No," he forced himself to say through the choked mass of his throat.

     "Then, no," Roy answered. The rush of clear air as he stepped back felt so cold by contrast, Edward found himself shivering. "They won't stop planning anything for that."

     "You don't have to be such a jerk about it!"

     Ignoring him completely, Roy studied his reflection in the window behind his desk and ran the comb through the wild disorder of his hair. "If we're to meet Lt. General Bloch at the concert, no doubt his wife will be with him. Be sure you mind your manners."

     "I always mind my manners."

     If the Colonel had heard him mumbling, which he probably had, he didn't give any sign of it. He just picked up his brilliantine from the window ledge and shook a bit on his hand to comb through his hair, brushing it all back from his forehead. The strap running around his head got in the way, which looked like a real pain. Didn't Roy know he could just take it off? In the reflection against the dark sky, Edward couldn't make out the eyepatch, though -- just a ghostly pale image of a cheekbone and a chin and a neat hairline. It looked just like the face that had nearly given him a heart attack from the bottom of Einstein's staircase a few months ago. Then he'd heard the words, '_May I introduce Mr. Frederick Cottrell of the University of California. He's asked to discuss the work you did with Oberth_.' Those were the crazy facts about getting stuck in a parallel world. Sometimes you found out your object of infatuation had a doppelganger working with Goddard.

     "Don't slick your hair back, would you? You look like Earth You and it's creepy."

     That got Roy's attention. He pivoted back with comb in hand and hair still partway disheveled. "There was an '_Earth Me_'?"

     "He wasn't _you_ you. He just looked like you. You're way more of a pompous bastard, even if he was an American." Which didn't explain why the Earth version hadn't made his pulse race anymore after that shock of an introduction. Not even when he'd smiled.

     At the time, he'd thought it was a sign that he was starting to get over a stupid predilection that wasn't going anywhere, but obviously that wasn't the case. Apparently, he just _hadn't been Roy_. And even if Roy was turning down every date offer he got but jumped a half-assed suggestion from _him_, there still wasn't any chance it would work. He kept saying 'No'. But it wasn't like he could say 'Yes'! Not when it was _Roy Mustang_.

     Edward swallowed back the nausea surging up into his throat and tried to breathe normally as he walked off to where he'd hung his coat, but it kept coming out broken. "Anyway, your hair looks better when it's a mess." Then he had to freeze again, one arm in his coat sleeve, and one side hanging down. There were fingers in his hair, pulling out his hair-tie and sending shivers down his spine that made him feel about seventy-three thousand times as guilty as he already did.

     And still, weirdly, it was the first time he could remember when the Colonel touching him had made it easier to breathe.

     "Yours doesn't." Without a word, he let Roy pull his hair back up into a neat ponytail and turn him around by the shoulders. He even bit his tongue when the man pulled a black bowtie under his collar and tied it there, all the pointed fabric tickling the bottom of Edward's chin. "Now, I may be a pompous bastard," Roy went on, rebuttoning his shirt at the cuffs, "but I'm a pompous bastard who happens to know a restaurant by the theater that never makes me wait on a table. Perhaps you could tell me more about how action at a distance is 'total bullshit' over chicken and barley stew before we meet our fate."

     Roy'd raked his bangs back down over his eyes where they, by right, ought to be, so Edward only felt a little conflicted as he pulled on his other coat sleeve -- not creeped out of his mind.

     "Sounds good to me."

~//~

     "You did remember to give them the tickets, didn't you, dear?"

     Bloch glanced up at the large, gilt-edged clock mounted in the cornice over the entryway. The grand foyer was starting to empty as everyone filed into the theater proper, and before too many minutes passed they'd be lowering the lights. "Alphonse-kun promised to deliver them himself. He's dependable."

     Usually Mustang was, as well, although he'd be damned if he knew what that man's game was with the Fullmetal boy. Sending that kid to spy on anyone? He was as obvious as a tinsel hat on a flop-tailed terrier. Not to mention that the military had procedures for dealing with State Alchemists who couldn't be housebroken: install them in some out-of-the-way house to mind their own business, and go chat with them twice a week to make sure they weren't building a race of rabid chimera that were about to overrun the streets. Bloch had been against giving ranks to anyone who hadn't gone to the academy in the first place. At least Mustang had the sense to dress him out of blues, but he was asking for trouble keeping that kid in Headquarters at all.

     Of course, Roy Mustang and trouble had had a notorious fellowship ever since he was a bright-eyed lieutenant all those years ago.

     "That must be them," his wife laughed. "Well, you did say the Fullmetal Alchemist was blond and recalcitrant -- although it looks like Brigadier General Mustang has him in hand."

     "He does at that." Sure enough, Mustang was dragging the kid in by the arm. This time, however, Elric wasn't throwing a fit. He seemed entranced by the structure of the hall, pausing to stare up at the frescoes and gothic moulding. His commander actually had to take him by the shoulders and push him along. If he'd wanted to see how the Flame Alchemist managed the kid, he already had his answer: he did so aggressively.

     The Fullmetal Alchemist was like a dog from the pound who snapped at everybody but the man who brought him home, near as he could tell. Bloch was sure the kid had reason to be neurotic if Roy Mustang had thought the best thing for him was the life that had put so many alchemists through hell, but no idea what that reason was. Details were hard to find with the Flame Alchemist covering his tracks, and Alphonse was a little too good at changing the subject.

     "...don't even like violin music," he could hear the young man muttering softly.

     "Consider this research, Fullmetal. The variations within a fugue are a brilliant expression for the more mutable structures we'll be working with. Now..." Mustang stopped and saluted, and the blond followed suit half a step later. "Lt. General Bloch. It's an honor."

     "Let's leave the formalities at the office, shall we?" he answered, reaching out to shake the Brigadier's hand. "I believe you've met my wife, Lucy."

     "Yes, I have, although it was Lucy Wright at the time." The old rake of a Brigadier smiled at all women that way, Bloch knew, although with a wife over two decades his junior he did make a point of never asking _how well_ she'd known Mustang. It would've been before she'd moved South to help put the place back together after the wars, and there was too much to know in life to ask uncomfortable questions that didn't matter. "I hope Marshal Wright is in good health?"

     "My father's very well, thank you. And this gentleman is...?"

     "Mrs. Bloch, may I present Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist."

     Her soft, politic smile trembled for the blink of an eye when she took his hand. She may have been raised with the society of soldiers, but the smooth plates of the automail prosthetic under his glove were more of a shock on a man so young as that. "Mistan and my father have told me so many interesting things about you, Edward. I'm glad we can finally meet."

     "It's a pleasure, ma'am," he replied, as mild-mannered as you please. So the kid did have it in him to be polite without acting like wild horses had dragged it out. Unbelievable.

     "Please, call me Lucy. But here, you haven't checked your coat. We still have a moment," she said, pointing him off to the far wall and stepping toward the attendant's counter. "Let me show you..."

     The first thing he did, Bloch noticed, was glance at Mustang. A nod came from the Brigadier, barely more than a twitch, and the blond walked off without hesitation. So much for Hakuro's rants about Elric getting worse under the Flame Alchemist's influence.

     "Lt. General Bloch, if you wanted to speak privately, you had only to ask."

     "Save it for the ladies, Mustang." The best poker face in Central smiled back at him, untouched. "I'll make this quick: Your Elric's not as well-adjusted as Alphonse is. Even you can't hide that, so if you can't tell me his story, don't make him my problem. I can work with men who couldn't find respect for authority on the other end of a string, but not if I don't know where they're coming from."

     "I saw you'd been inquiring into his history. Certainly Fullmetal's record speaks for itself?"

     "None of it says why a kid who was barely out of trainers had a metal arm, could transmute without an array, or wanted to be a State Alchemist in the first place. You must have done a real piece of work covering for him if there's nothing in his background files."

     "Me? No, I'm sure anything missing is an oversight," the other alchemist said with a laugh. "There were quite a few bad records from those days, if I recall."

     "Like I said, good cover. Except that local records from the Resembool municipal office were expunged, too -- like the Elrics never existed. The only thing that hasn't been wiped out is his mother's grave."

     "You do thorough work, Lt. General. But if you don't mind a fellow soldier's advice... Don't ask Edward about his mother." He knew how careful men like Roy Mustang were about every emotion they showed; Bloch was hard pressed to say if he thought the simple, sad twist to his expression was real or not. All he knew was that it wasn't the panic of someone who'd been caught falsifying records. Not that lack of panic meant much with this man -- one of the reasons Bloch liked him. "He was only five when she passed. I fear he'll always be a bit sensitive."

     Fair enough. They'd all lost people who cut too close to talk about.

     As he studied the kid leaning on the coat check counter across the room, smiling at Lucy (and who knew he could smile?), Mustang started up his history again without even being asked. That had been suspiciously easy. "The family next door looked after the two of them for a few years, then they--"

     "The father was dead, too?" With a troubled sigh, the Brigadier shook his head no. He had to be getting closer to something Mustang didn't want to tell, though, for the Flame Alchemist to look like he was starting to sweat. "Don't tell me the bastard ran out on them? At that age?"

     "Some time before, I understand."

     No wonder the older brother had such a ground-in problem with authority. Given the timing, Alphonse must have been young enough not to remember. Bloch knew too well how that could eat a kid to pieces.

     "And that's about everything there is to know about the Elrics' home life. When Edward was nine, they started studying with Izumi Curtis in Dublith. I'm quite certain she appeared in Fullmetal's service record a few times, so you'll have heard of her."

     "Heard of her? I was assigned to recruit her once Aerugo settled a bit after Ishbal. Dear God, she could throw a punch." He'd had a black eye for a week, and it probably would have been worse if those two blond kids scratching circles in the dirt outside hadn't been waiting with a cold compress.

     Bloch looked harder at the young man Mustang had brought in and tried to remember the voice on the smart-mouthed kid, all of eleven or twelve short years ago, saying, '_I told you not to bother. Sensei hates State Alchemists._' Maybe the other was Alphonse, and maybe not, but he'd bet good money that must have been Edward Elric hassling him. "Well, I'll be damned. Small world, isn't it?" And to think that woman's students ended up in the military.

     "So there you have it," a too-calm voice said beside him. And with a shrug, the Flame Alchemist started walking toward the coat check himself. "The unvarnished youth of the Elric brothers."

     Shaking his head, Bloch matched him stride for stride. "There's not a damn thing you just said that's worth suppressing, Mustang, and you of all people know how important it is to understand the men around you. So you can tell me what they're hiding, or I can find out on my own."

     "We could discuss this in your office." The man lowered his voice to a whisper as if to emphasize the acoustics of the hall.

     "Oh, for crying out loud. I don't want to leave a trail for someone else to find if they were in real trouble. They're good kids."

     The tight line of his lip was about as much distress as he'd ever seen from the man. "In point of fact, their father was Hohenheim," he sighed. "Edward and Alphonse might not mind if you let on, but I'm sure you understand--"

     "Fucking hell, Hohenheim had _kids_?" He knew Mustang had been looking into the man back then, but he'd never told anyone he'd found anything. And if ever there was a case for talent running in the family... Having a full-fledged legend for a father wasn't exactly a crime, but part of the legend was that he'd known how to make a Philosopher's Stone. It'd certainly get them the wrong kind of attention. "Don't tell people things like that, Mustang! And if you want my opinion, keep him out from under other generals' feet. He'll just get himself in trouble."

     "My apologies. He's been apart from Alphonse for so long, I'd hoped he could spend his research time in the lab; but if he's disrupting your work, of course I'll ask him to stay in Security."

     "Is that all it was?" He should have known Roy Mustang wouldn't have been stupid enough to engage in such blatant spying. Could the blond have any sense of how much his commander looked out for him? If he had, he might not call him '_that bastard_' all the time. Or maybe he would at that. He seemed the type who didn't waste time on insults when he didn't care for somebody. "Well, I don't mind if he visits, but yes, park him in your own house if you don't mind."

     "Consider it done." They approached their two companions at the coat check, Mustang now wearing a bright grin as if he hadn't just been having an unpleasant conversation. "Well, Fullmetal. Mrs. Bloch. Shall we go in?"

     "Waiting on you, Roy," Elric answered him.

     Mustang took a card in exchange for his coat and caught the blond alchemist around the back to lead him toward the stairs. "Ah, Fullmetal..." he said, snatching away the book in the blond's hand. "Notebooks, at a concert? The point is to listen."

     Flushing red in the face, Elric grabbed the volume back. "You said I could learn something! I want my notebook on the off-chance you're right!"

     "They're quite the pair," his wife whispered, taking his arm. "And Edward is absolutely delightful. Did he tell you he designed rockets to go into space while he was on Earth? The idea of it!"

     "I'm more interested in what kind of transmutation Mustang has him studying. First politics, now music? And Kyrus didn't even _have_ alchemists!"

     "Well, if you're finished grilling the Brigadier General on where he found the boy, you should ask them. _At. Intermission._"

     "I just might," he said, trying to peek at the circles sketched in the notebook. From what Mustang had said, it sounded like Alphonse wouldn't mind him asking when he came home if he was really Hohenheim's son. And if he was, that'd be that.

~//~

     Edward kicked at a rock on the forest path, sending it ricocheting off a few of the trees with a sullen pout. "And you didn't say anything about transmuting our mother? Or about Al, or the Philosopher's Stone?"

     "What do you take me for, Fullmetal?"

     He'd been somewhat surprised that Edward wanted his company, all things considered, but the young man had been right that his house was on Roy's way. Unfortunately the bridge across the creek at the edge of the treeline would be the end of their moonlit stroll. The road ran along the little wooded block separating the neighborhood from the city, and across it shone the Elrics' porchlight.

     "Does this mean I can't see Al at work?" Fullmetal asked, dragging his feet to a stop.

     "Certainly not."

     "And can I can stop--"

     "You can't stop talking to her." The blond scowled, pacing off ahead down the road. "But I'll find a way to stop her trying to date you, assuming you can put up with political humdrum."

     Roy saved up a few salvos about how Fullmetal clearly couldn't sustain his ruse without the situation becoming volatile. Anything not to say how jealous he'd been. Imagine his surprise when Edward stopped in his tracks and turned around with a simple, "Thanks." He waited on the little dirt trail for Roy to catch up, just before crossing the footbridge onto the street. "And... I'm sorry. About the kissing you for science thing. I thought you didn't care."

     There was nothing he trusted himself to say to that, whether Edward knew he was long since forgiven or not. With all that'd happened in both their lives, a thoughtless comment shouldn't even have registered, but the little things always hurt more in the moment. Roy's slow steps brought him close, and he brushed the first snowflake of the evening into damp nothingness on Edward's hair, smoothing his ponytail free of his coat. Not even the moonlight, it seemed, could strip his golden hair of all its hue as it turned the rest of the world to monochrome. The front of his jacket was flying open again, rolling in the night breeze and doing absolutely no good against the winter chill. Roy tugged the one side to meet the other and started fastening the buttons himself.

     "Hey!"

     "Try not to undo these again, Fullmetal."

     "We were walking! It gets stuffy!"

     "You'll catch cold." The moon peaking high up on their left was stronger outside the woods, and he made himself sigh away the urge to cup Edward's cheek, burnished by the winds, as the young man's impatient huff blew in a white cloud and faded. Roy fastened the last closure, flicking Ed's nose with his finger. "I won't have it."

     "Hmph." The blond shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked the post at the end of the bridge. Then with a laugh, he shook his head. "You know the weird thing? You're just like this song Earth You sang before he left, when everyone was asking how life was in America. Maybe it's just a coincidence, I don't know. I wish I knew how the two worlds are tied together. It can't be just different points in space, or physics would be the same and they wouldn't be... You know. _Mirroring us_."

     "I recommend taking it up with a philosopher. But my other self must have made quite an impression. I thought you didn't care for music."

     "He wasn't _you_." The young man cleared his throat and looked off towards his house, pushing up onto the bridge railing. He towered most of a meter over Roy's head as he shifted his weight between his feet. "And what I don't like is sitting still for three hours listening to something that hasn't got a beat."

     "Well, then. Sing me a few bars. I'll let Hawkeye know what you'd rather hear in the future."

     The blond scowled down, pacing slowly forward on the bridge rail while Roy trailed at his side. "I don't want to _sing it_ for you."

     "Of course you do."

     "Do not."

     "Do too."

     "Give me one good reason."

     "So I don't ask you to sing it in front of Havoc and the rest of the office tomorrow."

     "This is blackmail," Edward informed him, pointing a finger right at his head. Then, with a heavy sigh and his eyes forward where he couldn't see Roy's spreading grin, he broke out in a rough, overdramatic countertenor. "_Button up your overcoat... when the wind is free..._" His stride on the rail changed, hitting his heel hard on one beat and dropping his toes on the next -- almost. Close enough for Roy to hear where it ought to have been a quick swing beat. "_Take. Good. Care of yourself. You belong to me_."

     As he reached the edge of the rail, he tapped his toe in place and bent his knees for the jump down. "_Eat an apple every day... Get to bed by three..._"

     The snow on the edge of the bridge wasn't thick, or sticking yet, but had made the wood slick enough that Edward's footing slipped when he hit the ground. He probably would have caught himself, but there would be no way to be sure. The instinct to reach out for someone falling doesn't ask how well a young man might otherwise have found his feet. And with a laugh, Roy finished out the phrase on Fullmetal's song, drawing him away from the creek's edge.

     "_Take good care of yourself. You belong to me._"

     He didn't quiver like he had Sunday, or like earlier this evening, even though Roy had pulled the blond rather closer than he'd meant to do until after Edward had said 'yes'. It was as if he'd been surprised into still comfort with Roy's hands on his hips gripping their bodies together.

     Roy was ready for a familiar punch to his jaw, maybe a scream to high heaven that he had to learn to keep his hands to himself, and Edward never did disappoint. One snowfall of silence later, the blond pushed his way out of his arms, and he stomped out into the street while Roy cursed himself incoherently in his head.

     "You need to cut that the hell out, Roy!" He turned in the middle of the road, marching backwards toward the curb as he bellowed. "I may know better, but it's 'cause you do shit like that, Al thinks you're serious about me! He's going to keep thinking that until you _stop being confusing_!"

     "Fullmetal. When have I ever been anything but serious about you?" he asked with all of the force at his command.

     It was possibly the most awkward endearment of his entire career, but it was enough to make the blond stand still and quiet as the words echoed back like a rebuke for speaking too soon. He couldn't see Edward's eyes from here, in this light, and this was one hell of a stupid risk if he was wrong. He could very well alienate the friend he'd been waiting for all these years, make the office hell for everyone... if he was wrong. But if his instinct was right, holding back right now would be stupider by a level of magnitude.

     Without another word, Edward turned on his heel and paced toward his lit porch, but what was the point of training oneself to walk quickly without looking rushed or panicked if one didn't use it to catch up to a cross blond whom he couldn't afford to let get away? The other alchemist gave no sign that he'd seen Roy fall in at his side, but his 'Ignoring You' face was more than familiar enough. Taking a deep breath, he caught Fullmetal's arm before he could vault the steps and run in the door. If he was going to act on a hunch, at the very least he'd have the decency not to be _confusing_. "Edward, I'm quite in love with you. Don't make me say this twice."

     "How can you expect me to believe that?!"

     With a smile Roy knew perfectly well Ed found infuriating, he answered, "Because I said so." Moving Edward closer to the side of the steps, despite the stubborn resistance in the blond's shoulders, he said, "Now, if you'll take a seat, I think we have some things to discuss."

     Edward whipped around and jammed a fist up against Roy's chest. "Who the hell are you calling so dense he'd take _a fucking onion for a turnip_?! I'm not even your type!"

     "Oh, _aren't_ you," Roy laughed. This was going to be good.

     "I've read your notebooks, you know, and I've verified the numbers." The young man held up five fingers, and counted them down one by one. "You've never shown a bias for hair color or chest measurements -- those track with national averages -- _but_..." Lowering his third finger, he said, "... 83% of the girls you take out have their hair cut above shoulder length! _That's_ statistically outside the norm."

     "I thought you didn't like statistics?"

     "_Shut up!_" Roy had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of looking up the average length of a woman's hair. He wouldn't have even known where to begin. "The point is, my hair's long! I've never heard of you going for someone who isn't all... soft and pretty, _and_...!" Fullmetal pointed his last finger straight at Roy's face. "Legs, including shoes, account for at least 50% of the height on any woman you've dated, with the average hovering somewhere up here." The young man held a hand up to his side, slightly under his lowest rib. Roy (heroically, he felt) restrained himself from dying of acute hilarity. "53% to 56%. My legs are only 45.9% of my height, and I don't even have a matched set! You favor three distinct characteristics, and I run counter to _all of them_. Wait. There's four. Did I mention _that I'm not a girl_?!"

     "Demographics mean nothing to me, Fullmetal." There was, after all, only one Edward Elric, and goodness only knew why he seemed set on proving that he wasn't someone Roy could find appealing. Reality would never bear him out. He shook his head, sighing at the young man with the furious pout, admiring the way the porchlight brightened everything from the gold of his hair and the deep red of his coat to the windbite flaming in his cheeks. "Although, let me assure you as someone who looks at you every day -- your legs are extraordinary. They're far from..." Roy caught his tongue just in time. "... too muscular for my taste."

     "You were going to say 'too short'."

     "Never. I like living." Pointing down at the porch step, he said again, "_Sit_." When Edward sat sullenly on the snow-dusted wood, he took a seat himself with a grin and a quieter, "Stay."

     "Don't you even think about telling me to roll over. So help me, I will _end_ you."

     He shook his head at the petulant expression glowering back through the flurries of snow swirling down around them. "How many times do I have to tell you to trust me?"

     "This is different, Roy. You've always been a fucking playboy, no offense."

     "None taken."

     Snowflakes out on the yard were starting to stick to the blades of grass and shadowed pavement like white stars, glistening and melting into the night. It was the sort of night when he felt he really could build anything new, so now, naturally, he had no idea what to say. One magic word could make the walls around them shift and change. He just didn't know what it was.

     And yet, Edward's left hand was on the stair painfully close to his, gripping the wood now tightly, now letting go, as the young man stared without focus and without a sound toward the road. He was scared. Scared enough that Roy found himself wondering, when was the last time the blond had dreamed something that didn't hinge on sundering the natural order of the universe? And he'd only make himself more scared sitting there with his thoughts falling in on themselves. Roy slowly took up Edward's hand, fancying the adolescent knot in his gut was a measure of the other man's distress he'd stolen with a touch, even though he knew better. He laced their fingers together, squeezing once he'd gotten the young man's attention, but trying not to hold on too tightly. "If you honestly doubt me, tell me to leave and I'll go. But I don't think you do, and you haven't said once since we left my office that _you_ wouldn't have _me_."

     The young man pulled his hand away, propping up his coat collar like a screen against the wind, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Remind me never to introduce you to Freud." With a huff, he glared over the few inches between them, but spoke with more seriousness than snarl. "I've been out-bluffing Generals all week and I'm sick of it, so fine. Think what you want. But I've seen you date, Roy, and I'm not interested in screwing you once after dinner and once in the morning and then watching you move on. I'd probably have to check into rehab."

     None of which sounded like, '_Get off my porch_,' Roy thought, feeling a smile steal across his face. And goodness knew, _that_ scenario had never been a risk -- although, if taken properly, it could be considered a well-deserved compliment. And close enough to a confession for him. "I think I owe Hughes a bottle of very old whiskey."

     "Say what?"

     Roy slipped off his gloves so that when he touched Edward's cheek and worked his fingers into his hair, he could feel the superficial chill of the young man's skin warming under his hand. "If I kissed you right now," he said, leaning in close enough that he could feel uncertainty tensing in both their limbs even as Edward's hands gripped his coat in tight fists and stuttered breaths brushed his chin. Once tonight, he'd nearly convinced himself that the gravity between them and the silent entreaties he thought he saw on the man's lips were enough reason to push his advantages. He was sure he'd snap if he got the wrong answer again. "...would you stop me because you're trying to bait my interest indefinitely?"

     "_No!_" A jolt shot up the blond's spine, leaving an opening for him to block Fullmetal in with an arm about his waist. "I didn't say--"

     The complained vanished off of his lips -- before the kiss landed home, Roy was pleased to note. Warmth seemed to glow through his wind-numbed skin, melting a haze of cold until all he could feel was the two of them together. The snow still fell around them, but it couldn't have mattered less. Ed's hands pushing against his chest had curled around the folds of his coat now, and somehow the blond had twisted closer to him so that their knees seemed to be locked in a hopeless tangle. Some tremor rode through his body, fluttering in his veins where his heartbeat should have been. Roy was used to the pulse of close moments, but he didn't know what to call this.

     As Edward caught his breath with a gasp that tickled all the way down Roy's spine, he pushed their foreheads together and waited there so close to the young man's lips that he could still feel their warmth. Brushing his thumb over Edward's ear, he waited for an answer, and for the last remnants of stiff surprise to melt out of his back.

     It was probably a good sign that the other man didn't let go his grip on Roy's jacket. "That was a trick question," the blond muttered.

     "Had to be done." He pulled one of Edward's hands off his chest gently and laced their fingers together with a smile, wondering vaguely how he'd managed to control himself thus far when the unforgiving steel pushing back through layers of gloves felt so impossibly dear. "I need you to help me test a theory." Wary gold eyes looked back over the brush of space between them with impatient silence. It wrenched his pride to say this, but the only pride that mattered was the pride that made him do the right thing. "After five years of missing you around every corner, I won't take you lightly."

     Edward Elric had the most honest face of anyone he'd ever met. You could read annoyance in the pinch of his brow, pain in the set of his jaw -- and now, surprise in the way every strained line fell away and his eyes went wide and confused. Perhaps a smile peeking at the corner of his mouth.

     Roy thought he saw a smile, anyway. He didn't pause to stare when he felt the hand still on his chest push up to hook around his neck and draw him back in. A porch facing the street at somewhere long past midnight when they had work in the morning might not have been the proper time or place, but he wasn't going to hold back now if holding back had been his mistake all this time. The hit of Edward running against the wooden column on the porch shivered through him, with a metal grip on his own back. His hand had squeezed the stair edge to keep them from falling over, holding so tight that a corner dug into his thumb. If the brush of his lips before had been a question, the searching push now, giving way to his tongue to draw out a whispered moan, was the last chance he'd ever risk wasting.

     Probably for the best that they both had learned to jump at sudden sounds like bolts turning on doors, or when Alphonse stepped out onto the porch, he'd have had a more legitimate fright than they'd given him at Sunday's party.

     "Nii-san! Brigadier General! It's snowing out. If you need to talk, you should come inside."

     "He was just leaving!" Ed yelled. If it hadn't been for the weakness in the blond's knees as he stood, betrayed by a deathgrip on the porch railing, and for the tingle of a playful bite still fading on Roy's lip, he might have taken the tone badly. As it was, Roy was fairly certain nothing could ruin today, and that even if their mastermind struck at noon with an army of ten-foot autonomous, walking tanks, he could have them in lockdown before afternoon tea. "Al, what are you even doing up? You're catching a train in three hours!"

     "Well, I had been asleep, but I heard some yelling and I thought it might be you."

     "Go back to sleep. We're fine."

     Alphonse didn't seem to notice the way Ed kept a hand trailing along the side of the house on his walk to the door in order to steady himself. The younger Elric just nodded at them both and stepped back inside. "Have a good night, Brigadier General Mustang."

     "Good luck on your trip, Alphonse." As he stood, Roy felt some sympathy for Edward's difficulty walking. For the first time in a long time, he couldn't trust his own legs either -- not with the way they seemed to have storms racing on his bloodstream and with how they shivered as if some drug had taken away his control over his muscles. "I hope you and the Tringhams can clear up that drought once and for all."

     "Thank you," he answered as his older brother shoved him bodily into the house.

     Roy barely made it to the door before Edward could slam it in his face, stepping up on to the threshold to watch as one Elric disappeared up the stairs and the other stripped off his coat with quite a bit of silent fury and a candy apple blush burning across his cheeks. "Go home, Roy. It's late."

     "I want to hear you say you love me."

     The young man had managed to find an umbrella somewhere, he saw as Edward marched back over, whose handle he jammed up under Roy's chin. "_And I want you off my porch!_" Then the blond pushed the whole length of the umbrella into his hands, pushing him back outside in the process. "Here. Don't you dare catch a cold or I will fucking kill you."

     "Wouldn't dream of it."

     The next thing he knew, he'd caught another fresh, untrained kiss from the young man, who had pushed up on his toes and was balancing with one hand on the doorknob and one on Roy's arm. Edward kissed him like tomorrow wouldn't ever come, and it was still over too soon.

     When Ed pushed away, he kept looking Roy in the eye as he backed up inside and pointed a finger straight on at Roy's nose. "When I test a theory, I don't skew the results, so you'd better make this count." The door that slammed in his face then, without a moment's hesitation, had to be the sweetest door slam Roy had ever heard, and all he could do was grin at the blond miming, "_Go home!_" in a silent scream through the window.

     The whole world had dyed itself in frost tones during their few stolen minutes, like a blank white sheet under the moonlight, without a single track save the footprints he left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of having a solid source text upon which I could base a complex system, I hunted down alchemy texts, although it was hard to find ones in the right corner of the playground. In a stroke of fantastic luck, the one that worked best was a book I already had on my shelf: an appendix to Jung's memoirs. For those interested in the context, the following are resource notes:
> 
> 1 - "From that time on, the dead have become ever more distinct for me as **the voices of the Unanswered, Unresolved, and Unredeemed**; for since the questions and demands which my destiny required me to answer did not come to me from outside, they must have come from the inner world."
> 
> Jung, Carl Gustav. "Confrontation with the Unconscious" (1961). _Memories, Dreams, Reflections_. Ed. Aniela Jaffe. Trans. Richard and Clara Winston. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Ch 6, 191-192.
> 
> 2 - "**A thing that is infinite and eternal hath no qualities, since it hath all qualities.**
> 
> "**This nothingness or fullness we name the PLEROMA.** Therein both thinking and being cease, since the eternal and infinite possess no qualities. In it no being is, for he then would be distinct from the pleroma, and would possess qualities which would distinguish him as something distinct from the pleroma.
> 
> "In the pleroma there is nothing and everything. **It is quite fruitless to think about the pleroma, for this would mean self-dissolution.**
> 
> "**CREATURA is not in the pleroma, but in itself. The pleroma is both beginning and end of created beings. It pervadeth them, as the light of the sun everywhere pervadeth the air.**"
> 
> Jung, CG. "Septem Sermones ad Mortuos" (1916). _Memories, Dreams, Reflections_. Ed. Aniela Jaffe. Trans. H.G. Baynes. New York: Vintage Books, 1989. Appendix V, Sermo I, 379.
> 
> 3 - "We must, therefore, distinguish the qualities of the pleroma. The qualities are pairs of opposites, such as—
> 
> "**The Effective and the Ineffective.  
> Fullness and Emptiness.  
> Living and Dead.**"
> 
> Jung, CG. "Septem Sermones ad Mortuos" (1916). _MDR_. Appendix V, Sermo I, 380.
> 
> 4 - "**Eros flameth up and dieth. But the tree of life groweth with slow and constant increase through unmeasured time.**
> 
> "Good and evil are united in the flame.
> 
> "Good and evil are united in the increase of the tree. In their divinity stand life and love opposed.
> 
> "Innumerable as the host of the stars is the number of gods and devils.
> 
> "Each star is a god, and each space that a star filleth is a devil. But the empty-fullness of the whole is the pleroma.
> 
> "**The operation of the whole is Abraxas, to whom only the ineffective standeth opposed.**"
> 
> Jung, CG. "Septem Sermones ad Mortuos" (1916). _MDR_. Appendix V, Sermo IV, 385.
> 
> 5 - I transcribed a passage whose notes I used for designing the structure of the diagram: "[Mandalas](http://notes.pinboard.in/u:psiten/ce443088916146896747)" (1955). Thanks to Sumeria for taking my initial design and making it _awesome_. The transmutation circle Roy and Ed made above looks like this:
> 
>   
> 
> 
> 6 - [Frederick Gardner Cottrell](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederick_Gardner_Cottrell): real person. I believe his foundation actually endowed Goddard's experiments rather than him participating, but he was himself a chemist. He looked like this:
> 
>   
>   
>   
>    
>  |    
>   
> ---|---  
> Not perfect, but a reasonable match given that I was constraining myself to eminent figures in the scientific world during the 20s and 30s, whose pictures I could find. It may simply be asking too much of reality to find one of those eminent scientists with the right feature set who's _also_ as ridiculously hot as Roy.  
>   
> 7 - I'm aware that the timeline Roy gives to Bloch above is completely in contradiction of the canon timeline, where Ed was ten when his mother died. Roy is lying through his teeth, for a variety of reasons.
> 
> 8 - "How a Gardener May Get Rid of the Dormice" is Chapter 61 of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas, published in 1844. Varying translations of the novel may render it different ways. The title for Chapter 7 will be "The Innumerable Troubles", which will probably be the most difficult source work to guess.


	7. The Innumerable Troubles

_[The Next Morning]_

     _"No way in hell am I saying that!"_

     Everyone evacuated the room as the blond neared decibels dangerous to human hearing. No one yelled like Edward, Roy thought with a grin. It was like a steam whistle. Had Alphonse been in Research instead of on a train most of the way to Briggs, he'd have come running across the building to see what was the matter. Best of all was Ed's hair, dancing in a blond fury all around his face. Distractingly charming, really. Up until yesterday, when it was too distracting, Roy had solved the problem by looking away -- beige walls were far less charming than gold hair and leather pants -- but last night, the rules had changed.

     Note to self, Roy thought as he trapped his lover against the table edge: never mention to Edward that he was pleasantly armful-sized.

     The blond shoved him back with a snarl. "I'm not saying anything that inane. I mean... Hell, it's fucking vapid! What do you think I am? A cheesecake?!"

     "It has the benefit of being true, Fullmetal."

     "I am _not_\--!"

     Roy caught Ed's fist an inch before impact and let the blond's momentum bring on a collision. "Not you. The script."

     "_Fuck the script!_" the younger alchemist roared, rearing against Roy's chest. With a snarl, Ed stomped up onto the rails of the chairs to either side of him -- just enough height that, now, he was the one looking down. "You can tell her yourself, asshole! I'd never say that bullshit, and you know it!"

     Roy kicked a chair leg and sent the young man tumbling seat-first onto the table. "It has to come from you, Ed, or you could alienate her permanently," he answered, resting his hands on either side of Edward's legs. His companion opened his mouth for another round of opinions, but Roy cut him off. "Which _isn't_ what you want." Fury faded to a twisted scowl as Ed crossed his arms over his chest. "Besides, I didn't say it was your opinion. I said it was _true_."

     "And you're a _pompous ass_," the blond spat.

     Roy shrugged. "A pompous ass who's guaranteeing your success."

     Uncertainty quaked across Ed's nose and lips, softening for one moment, but in the end he settled on the snarl that suited him so well. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

     "Well, some onus does fall on your performance." Roy undid the top button on Edward's shirt, enjoying the way Ed's breath hitched, then relaxed. He pulled Roy's hand away and down to the table in a cotton-gloved metal grip. His fingers twined into Roy's with all the slowness of magma. "Can I depend on you for sufficient fluster and embarrassment?"

     As he fought down the red in his cheeks, Ed asked, "What? Like this?" and bared his teeth in a farce of a grimace.

     "Hmm. Not quite."

     Roy pushed Edward's chin up and stole a kiss, with that edge new lovers brought that made his skin burn. He tried not to wonder how different the comfortable kisses of old couples saying hello or goodbye would feel. Wondering might jinx his chances of finding out. Instead, he savored the grip tightening on his side as Edward pushed his mouth open with a rough gasp and pulled closer...

     Then froze, straining against Roy's arm on his shoulder. Roy weathered a volley of hits to his chest -- easy, since none were strong enough to bruise -- and stepped away to avoid a knee to his stomach. No one could have asked for a more perfect blush than the pink staining Ed's cheeks from nose to ears. "What the fuck, Roy?! What if somebody walked in?"

     "Worth the risk." He pulled Ed off the table and pushed him toward the door. "That's exactly the face you'll need."

     His lover planted his feet and whipped around, bracing against the moulding on the door as Roy opened it. "Say _what_?! You did that so I'd _make a face?!_"

     "Not _just_ so you'd make a face." He pulled Edward's shoulder enough to loosen his grip on the doorframe and spun the younger man around toward the exit. His staff glanced up and Hawkeye gave her usual sigh. Otherwise work proceeded unbroken as he pushed Edward, flailing and screaming, through the outer office. "I have every confidence in your ability to look flustered, Fullmetal, so long as you get to the cafeteria while you're still mad at me."

     "_That's not going to be a problem!_ Hell's gonna freeze over before you stop being an un-fucking-believable _prick_!"

     Ed stomped into the hallway on his own. Leaning against the doorframe, Roy called out, "They do say all's fair in love and war," as the blond storm rolled off toward the horizon.

     A still-blushing, ferocious scowl shot back before Ed slammed the door to the stairwell.

     Naturally, a small crowd had stopped in the hallway, all of whom stood at attention when they noticed that he'd noticed them. He had to answer their salutes, of course. Regulations were regulations. "As you were," he told them, and closed the door again. By the sound of his footsteps, Edward must have gotten an entire flight down the stairwell without kicking in any walls. Marvelous restraint. He was learning.

     Hawkeye's frown spoke volumes. "I assume that was entirely necessary, sir?"

     "Oh, _entirely_."

     "Then I hope you'll be available to review and sign any complaint forms about 'Hurricane Edward' as soon as they start coming in."

     She handed him a stack of documents -- nothing to do with Edward. Color-coded reports on government operations offering easy access to Drachma, his first glance told him. His team had narrowed the field considerably. Good.

     He scanned them for areas of concern. "I wouldn't worry, Captain. No one let Fullmetal near the coffee, so he's unlikely to repeat his impromptu 'repair work' on the judicial chambers."

     Although the magistrates had kept Ed's new seat cushions once they'd managed to trade the nine-foot, spike-encrusted steel frames for something more sedate. In fact, the head magistrate had opted not to lodge a complaint at all once he'd realized the new cushions had fixed his bad back. Today was riskier than chair cushions, but Roy would personally make sure there weren't any messes to clean up. After lunch. Staff assignments first.

     Hakuro's air fleet plans had had no international contact since before the mastermind's last move, and most cross-border projects were even more stalled. The civilian Federal Diet had established quite a few idealistic initiatives during its two and a quarter years in power, all of which had devolved into underfunded confusion when cities stopped paying taxes to a government they didn't recognize. Then the military stepped back in to end the chaos, and the military leaders were concerned with local matters, not with amiable international relations.

     But one project had found a General interested enough to establish correspondence lines to other nations: the international athletic competition. Soon, talks were going to go forward. Roy pulled that file to the top. Major General Saulnier needed security for negotiations, and Roy was inclined to cooperate fully. An infantry company under Capt. Havoc's command, perhaps.

     "Find our very best soldiers for Maj. General Saulnier, and vet any officers she's requested personally. I'd hate to see anything go amiss and accidentally trigger a war."

     "Yes, sir. I'll have a list on your desk to discuss by 4:00 PM."

     A few more eyes on the Major General's communications lines might see if someone had been using them for less official purposes. They could hope.

~//~

     All seats were clear for three tables around him, closing in at an average rate of between 121 and 122 ten-thousandths of a table per minute. The rest of the cafeteria was packed. Ed couldn't eat, and his eyes wouldn't focus on his notes, all because Roy was a jackass, and people kept staring at him. Then he glared back. Then they scurried to the furthest open seat they could find. Behold the power of Colonel Puppetmaster's arcane trickery -- and excuse him for not wanting to make out in the office! Making out on his porch was embarrassing enough.

     How the hell could that kiss last night have been real? The ordinary world where the sun came up annoyingly on time, he'd burned the bacon because Alphonse's notes were too interesting, and there hadn't been any cinnamon to put on his toast could not logically be a world where... events happened. That he was not thinking about.

     And just when Ed had managed to convince himself that last night was a hallucination, Roy had been waiting at the office with his umbrella -- _physical evidence_ that he'd kissed Roy Mustang. That he'd _liked_ kissing Roy Mustang. Who needed to prove that?! _Twice_, if you counted the conference table! Fucking '_fluster and embarrassment_'. Given society's treatment of kissing as an element of sex--

     And now he was thinking like an anthropologist.

     Roy had reduced him to _soft science_.

     "Edward?"

     "Huh?"

     His fork clattered on his tray. Somehow, Katya had managed to sneak up without him noticing, despite the bright blue shirt with tiny orange polka dots and matching orange lunch box. You'd think, with her hair in a regulation bun and wearing pants, she'd stick out less, but the only way she blended with the crowd was the wide-eyed stare she was throwing at him.

     "Um." Edward cleared his throat. "Hi. You gonna sit or what?"

     "Edward, you're... glowing."

     He glanced at his hands and his legs, then swung his head to look for a window or a counter or anything reflective. "I'm _what_?! I'm not glowing! Where's the lightswitch?" As he tried to dash off, she grabbed his arm. Hard. It figured that she had one hell of a grip.

     "You're not... luminescent. I mean you look happy. Did something happen?"

     Fucking Roy. He'd said she'd ask him that, opening right into the charade Colonel Jerkface had planned, and he'd been right. And how could he possibly look happy?! He was pissed! And was he really supposed to follow that up by telling her, '_I just had a great time with my boyfriend last night_'?! He couldn't even remember what the rest of Roy's schlock had been. That'd been bad enough. Ed could feel his cheeks getting redder as he sat and tried to fit his mouth around it.

     Fuck the script. The Colonel knew he couldn't act. Hence kissing him in the office. Ed jabbed his fork so it stood up in his mashed potatoes and fixed his eyes there so he wouldn't have to look at Katya's face.

     "... Roy happened," he said.

     But as the silence dragged on for what felt like minutes and was probably actually less than a second, he had to look at her face to figure out if he needed to say more than that. She had a hard mouth that even Edward could tell wasn't her usual overbearing pep, but other than that it was blank. Maybe he had to go all-in.

     "You can keep a secret, right? 'Cause, it's against regs to date your commanding officer. I don't care if the military kicks me out on my ass, but I _won't_ get Roy in trouble."

     The weird look in her eyes sent shivers down to his toes. That couldn't be a good look. Her voice was... limp, though. "_You're_ dating Roy Mustang?"

     "Yeah. Stupid, right? Central's biggest playboy." Sticking his spoon in his potatoes next to his fork, he balanced his knife on top. "I spend seven years getting over him, and he wipes that out in two seconds just by... just by saying he'd be serious. I can't believe I believe him."

     All of a sudden, the words were out of his mouth, and he realized he was smiling. How the hell had he persuaded himself that last night hadn't been real? His dreams always had better architecture, optional gravity, and more fire.

     Without noticing, he'd slipped a paper out of his vest pocket -- that stupid note Roy had left him that he'd never managed to throw away. He crumpled it unopened and shoved it into his pants pocket instead, then knocked his fork and spoon tower down with the knife.

     "I'll tell you another secret, though." Ed grimaced and shook his head. "Roy's always serious."

     Katya looked up from her hands folded on the table and put on some kind of expression that he was almost certain had to be her trying to smile. "You really love him."

     "Nobody's perfect."

     The hum of the crowd was unbroken, like a wall between them and the room. She was definitely the only one who'd heard his confession. And that was fine. The intern sat in silence for all of three seconds before brushing her bangs out of perfect parallel order and looking back with a manufactured smile. "Well, like I said, it's wonderful to find someone like that. I'm happy for you." Picking up his fork, Katya cleared a spot on his plate for some of her beef slices and vegetables. "You should eat. I wouldn't wish institutional meatloaf on my worst enemy, and I certainly won't let a friend ingest it."

~//~

     The hallway outside Levochkin's department was empty, but Roy knew if he dawdled there were other ways for his enemies to know. Luckily, he didn't have to wait long before he had the chance he was waiting for. Lt. General Fieseler delivered his copies of Blackburn's report on the rabbit-hole debacle with utmost efficiency, and the office manager, Brigadier General Dewoitine, would need to leave the front office for at least fifteen minutes to discuss any actions Marshal Levochkin required. Even with the minutes Roy needed with Fieseler himself once he exited, it'd be enough.

     Saluting with all due respect -- a Lieutenant General was a Lieutenant General until treason had been proven beyond doubt -- he considered how insistence on regulation had increased since the civilian government collapsed, like everyone running for the shelter of the familiar and welcoming its imperfections over the new problems they didn't know how to handle.

     "Brigadier General Mustang." Fieseler paused to look him over. "At ease."

     "Lucky to run into you, sir." Roy handed him a stack of papers from his folder. "Mr. Elric finished the list your panel requested on phenomena around the rabbit-hole on Earth."

     The general flipping through the pages without answering.

     "If you need him to go over anything with your staff..."

     "Lt. Colonel Elric's reports have thus far been clear." The wrinkle of his lip pulled the long scar running from his eye down his cheek deep into his skin. "And, I hope, complete."

     "I reviewed his work myself. I know his habit of finding the oddest things to be obvious."

     Fieseler closed the report and trained his eyes on Roy's smile. "But General Hakuro's got a point about your disappearing rabbit-hole being too pretty." And what Roy wouldn't give to know what went on when Fieseler discussed these reports with the good General. "Some people say there's more to your story than we've been led to believe."

     "Anyone in particular?"

     "_Anyone in particular_," he scoffed. "I can't walk two feet without someone grumbling about miracles they can't hear, see, or touch." The general's trick of standing near enough for his shadow to block the light was an old one. Roy had seen it done better. "It's hard to believe a man can pop through worlds without leaving a trace."

     Roy held back a chuckle as footsteps clicked down the hallway, sounding like just the red head he'd come here to see. The general backed away, saving his threats for when they had less company, and Roy moved so Fieseler's body would block Katya from seeing his face. As soon as she passed, he answered, "You're aware that alchemy doesn't work on this other world, and an Earth-side bridge required resources on a national scale. A miracle would be more likely than a nation altruistic enough to repeat that, just to send one man home. When we see an invasion appear out of thin air, I'll entertain the theory that Mr. Elric hasn't mentioned something."

     "As you say." Fieseler tucked Edward's report under his arm. "So you can explain how those Drachman troops snuck past Briggs into Amestris? The Council appreciates your speculation about Drachma having help on the inside, but not your lack of facts."

     So he'd reached the limit on how long he could go before reporting more detailed findings. But for someone to try and pin it on Edward? Roy arched his eyebrows into a polite variation on 'dumbfounded'.

     "The Drachman invasion started two months before Mr. Elric came home."

     The disgust in Fieseler's eyes recalled what Roy had seen on many soldiers' faces when State Alchemist program had first been proposed. None of the fear or wonder that came later. "If I recall, and I'm not the only one, that army three years ago had help from someone in Amestris. Someone who's on the Northern border now. Two months isn't bad for a dry run."

     Faking a broad smile, Roy chuckled at the accusation and made a mental note to watch out for planted evidence. Someone spreading that kind of story had no interest in honesty. At least the Tringhams had been guarding Alphonse's work in the North while he was here in Central. "You don't know Alphonse," Roy assured the General. "Or Edward, I think. He's too proud to steal someone else's achievements. If Edward Elric says he found the way home, you have my word... he's the one who found it."

     The Lieutenant General pointed one last look at Roy's eyes. "It'll go better for you if that's true, Mustang."

     Fieseler's meaning was clear: any crimes Alphonse might commit would sully Roy's name as well, as the general who'd sponsored him to take the State Alchemist Exam. The Lieutenant General's threat was too similar for coincidence to Hakuro's past complaints about damage to his reputation from Edward's behavior. But Roy couldn't be sure. Squeeze your fist too soon, and the mouse would get away as sure as if you waited too long.

     "Good day, Lt. General," Roy called at Fieseler's back.

     The sounds of the office filled the void. "Still, Katya?" one of the typists asked. "I don't care how many parties you go to. He won't date you. He's just not interested." It sounded like Yvette, cornering the the intern near the filing cabinets, if his ears didn't deceive him.

     "Of course he's not interested!" The shuffling of papers stopped, and the only sounds Roy heard were Katya's voice and a filing drawer pulling out just as her tone started to waver. "Edward's gay. Didn't you know?"

     The other girls never got to respond. As soon as Roy walked in, Yvette turned around in her chair, Claudia hurried to her desk, and Ruth ran out the back door, no doubt to get Brigadier General Dewoitine. The office manager would want to kick him out as soon as she could. The typists all watched as he stepped over to Katya's station, along with the growing crowd of soldiers stopped in the inner hallway, but none of them warned the girl engrossed in her filing.

     Roy took a seat on the corner of her desk and pulled the bobby pins from Katya's hair. Miss Rockbell's style could stay with its proper owner. This girl had entirely the wrong face for it, and Roy had always thought coiffures with a bit of play to them were more becoming. The horror in the intern's full-faced blush as she turned around wasn't a thank you, but a man had to do what a man had to do.

     Brushing the pin-curled ends with his fingers, Roy smiled. "There. Much better."

     "B-Brigadier General Mustang! I--"

     He softened his voice to keep prying ears from hearing. "Edward was worried," he lied. "He thought you looked out of sorts, and... I thought I might know why." For a second, he thought she might cry -- though in anger, not sadness. "I'm sorry. I couldn't let you take him from me."

     Her face stiffened, as if she'd been hit. "Brigadier General, please believe, I never--"

     "You had no idea." He pushed her chair out with his toe, and she sat, hands folded in her lap. "Unfortunately, for the moment, no one can."

     "I won't tell, I promise."

     No explanations needed. So Fullmetal had managed to remember that part.

     Roy let the silence linger long enough for her to notice it, glancing down at her desk. Fieseler's report on the rabbit-hole was still there, as yet unfiled. Short, too. The only new data in the brief were ideas for a device to 'test' the air. Roy wished the project team all luck, and picked up the papers next to the rabbit-hole report as if trying to change the subject. "You're on the selection committee for the charity calendar? Quite an honor."

     "They thought I had the best chance of getting Edward to pose for it." The girl straightened the pencils on her desk, eyes down and anywhere but on him. "Since he even talked to me, you know."

     "He'll do it if you ask him." Because Edward's commander would insist upon it, but Roy didn't say that. "Given that he wasn't supposed to mention our... understanding to anyone, Edward must think very highly of you."

     As she shook her head and tried not to let a drained chuckle past her lips, Roy flipped through the assignment list. They hadn't decided which month he'd be, or Edward, but Armstrong was slated for February. Lieutenants Blenheim and de Havilland were on the committee as well, both of whom served with Fieseler under Hakuro. He might be able to use the calendar as a pretext to get some information.

     "Speaking of which..." Roy raised up the papers to hide their faces and whispered in the red head's ear, "Make sure you get Edward to pose with his shirt off. He might be shy, but it's worth the trouble."

     "_Brigadier General Mustang!_ We couldn't print that!"

     In her horror, she'd yelled loud enough for her voice to ring down the hallway. The room had been weighed down with silence before, full of people trying to hear what they were saying. Now they were all trying to pretend they hadn't been watching. They'd certainly all think they knew what he'd been doing, and so wouldn't bother asking Miss Hawker about it. "I've been in this calendar almost my entire career," he told the intern, borrowing a pen to note that Edward needed to be as naked as possible, and ought to be a summer month. He was hot-tempered, after all. "I know what sort of publication it is, and a body like that will be a considerable asset."

     He left his perch on the desk to salute the office manager as she strode through the door.

     "I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue, Brigadier General Mustang."

     "Brigadier General Dewoitine. My apologies, I had thought a brief business discussion wouldn't be a problem."

     "That brand of business it isn't welcome here."

     Shaking his head, Roy put down the calendar committee's notes and handed the Brigadier a packet from the folder he'd brought with him. "For Marshal Levochkin from Mr. Elric."

     "Thank you for your trouble, Brigadier General. You know where to find the door."

     "There was one other thing." He handed the last document in his folder over to Katya. Just a single sheet he'd received from the university earlier today. "A few political journals wrote me about the research Miss Hawker and Mr. Elric have been doing. As co-author, I'll need her authorization for that research to be printed."

     The paper trembled in her hand as she read it. "I'm going to be published?" the girl murmured. Her face was blank.

     "It was excellent work. Edward and I would both be honored if you'll continue."

     She bit her lip, folding up the letter and dropping it in the center of her desk. "I'll consider it." The girl looked less than thrilled. But then, he remembered how it was to work with Edward and not feel his affections returned. If he'd read her right, she'd do it.

     Roy offered Dewoitine another salute and strode for the door. The lady didn't even wait until he was out of earshot to tell her young intern, "Don't let him charm you, Katya. A scoundrel is a scoundrel no matter how he--"

     "Brigadier General Dewoitine," Roy interrupted, and turned around with a smile. He hadn't planned this, but for once in his life, he was making a point of not being a 'scoundrel'. "You don't need to worry about Miss Hawker," he said. "She knows I'm taken."

     There was something satisfying in the shock on all those faces. And in hearing a high pitched cry when he left the office, of a girl insisting, "_I promised I wouldn't tell!_" As fast as gossip went around Central, word would probably reach his office before he did. Of course, he imagined his staff had been rehearsing their smug reminders that he'd doubted their plans ever since he'd suggested to Edward that he tell Katya about last night.

     But as he strode around his staff at work, there wasn't a banner or a smirk to be seen. Shockingly professional. Then again, they all had more important things to worry about.

     Hawkeye signaled that Edward was waiting in his private office. "Did your visit with Marshal Levochkin go well, sir?"

     "I didn't get to see him personally, I'm afraid." He glanced at the memos she'd gathered in his absence, then reached for his code phrases to tell her about his conversation with Fieseler. "Someone who'd been out East did mention an awful lightning storm at the old homestead. Had anything reached you about that?"

     Hawkeye's mouth tightened. "First I've heard of it."

     Good. If they'd caught a plot to discredit this office in its early stages, the source would be easier to track. "Well, I hope it's just a rumor. If you get in touch with your grandfather, let me know how he's doing." Everyone would need to look out for their close family, not just Edward.

     "I'll tell him you said hello."

     With a nod, he opened the door to his inner office and caught the rubber band that came flying straight at his face. The blond sitting in his chair who'd fired it only glared harder when Roy started to grin.

     "Fullmetal! Well done. You've learned not to fire until you see the whites of my eyes!"

     "Lock the fucking door behind you, asshole."

     He took his key out of his coat as he stepped forward and pulled the door shut, Edward clomping over to meet him. Before he had a chance to turn the lock himself, the blond grabbed the key out of his hand and threw the bolt with a snarl. Next thing he knew, Edward had yanked his lapels down hard for a kiss. One of these days, he'd get his lover to do that when he'd have time to take advantage of it. One day soon, preferably.

     Edward tried to shove him away as suddenly as he'd first pulled their bodies together, but Roy had him by the waist now and wasn't letting go. The alchemist standing a nose-length away jabbed him in the ribs. "Ha! See how I'm not freaking out? _I'm fine_, you bastard."

     "Glad to hear it."

     But just to check, Roy stole another kiss, this time setting the pace himself. It was true. Edward wasn't blushing, and wasn't hesitating. Roy had officially accomplished all his objectives for the day, and the afternoon had barely begun.

     The blond pushed his arms away and stalked off towards the table and his books. "You're never gonna fake me out like that again, so _don't bother trying_! And...!" he spat as Roy followed him over. "I believe you when you say this won't be a problem, but _just so we're clear_..." The young man poked him in the chest, a hint of red now showing in his cheeks. "If you cheat on me, I will make your life hell."

     "I'd expect nothing less."

     Taking his seat, Edward thrummed his pencil against the table. "Were you talking to Hawkeye about a lightning storm?" The seriousness in his gaze meant Roy wouldn't have to explain in plain language, when they were far from any bugs or wiretaps, that they had to keep a closer watch for planted evidence and political traps.

     "Nothing you need to worry about," he answered, hating the feel of that particular code phrase on his tongue. Roy preferred it when enemies came at him directly, and he didn't need to tell a subordinate, '_You're the target_'. With his hand, he signed '_Alphonse, too'. Fullmetal's pencil snapped in half in his grip._

     Anyone trying to take down an Elric should've reconsidered.

~//~

_[Mid-January]_

     Ed scowled at the nonsense scrawled on the chalkboard while the officers shot bullshit over the conference table. His own brain was a looping list of the top ten things making life suck ass, revised as of 10 AM:

  1. The bakery was out of pumpernickel.
  2. Their dipshit mastermind was still hiding. Hiding like a sneak-nosed mole.
  3. Said dipshit was hiding behind a threat to hang Roy for treason over the Drachman invasion -- an invasion they'd _stopped_, not started, but who the fuck cared about _that_?
  4. Roy had made Sciezka-san route Al's telegraph line back to R&amp;D because they needed 'independent assurance that Security has nothing to hide' -- meaning they'd get their asses hauled in front of the Council if the Generals thought they were trading secret messages because nobody in the whole fucking government trusted Roy to be honest about his mail, but if Bloch saw it first they were clear. File under, 'Roy would have fewer problems if he weren't a sneaky jackass'.
  5. It remained a pain in the neck to translate secret messages from Alphonse about what the studies at Briggs could say in RE: _actual_ invasion methods and who might be behind them.
  6. Al _fucking trusted_ that Roy knew what he was doing and could get all their necks off the chopping block, and Ed did not see how that could excuse anybody in this country from pointing a finger at his brother or at his boyfriend. If 'boyfriend' was the right term for somebody you wanted to make out with but couldn't invite in at night, because how the fuck was he supposed to relax and fool around when the bad guys had a hit out on Al and Roy?!
  7. Milk.
  8. Had he mentioned that he was too pissed about things sucking to make out with Roy?
  9. Roy was annoyingly un-pushy about that. Him not being annoyed meant Ed had to be annoyed for both of them.
  10. This week's cover operation of 'logistical planning for a street festival' was the stupidest 'code' (Ed used the term lightly, since this sure as hell wasn't sensible cryptography) ever. He thought he'd seen the worst covers Roy's team could cook up. He'd been wrong.



     "So I think we can say that snow-cones will definitely be popular this year," Fuery read off his notes.

     Snow-cones were Hakuro, Ed translated, picturing the old blowhard stuck in a paper cone with his uniform melting down the sides in a blue slop. He let out a sigh and made his eyes focus on the sketch of walkways and booths and all that stupid fuckery fancying up their data on tracking rumors back to their sources. All the bigwigs were food places, lined up at the right hand side of the diagram: Levochkin was the funnel cake stand, Wright was hamburgers, and the Fuhrer was the noodle stand, which matched his little noodle arms.

     Their chains of command filed down each walkway, and Ed repeated to himself (silently, since saying anything out loud in their _fucking bugged office_ would defeat the point of a code) whose office each kitschy festival stand was supposed to be. It was all random as hell. The effort of keeping something that objectively meaningless straight in his head drowned out anything meaningful in what Roy's team was saying, so he sat. And watched. As Havoc scrawled X's in the corners of 'booths' that could be the links they needed. Like the worst game of connect-the-dots Ed had ever played.

     Falman scratched his chin, nodding. "Given how hot it's likely to be this spring, the funnel cake stand won't need much attention..."

     He couldn't decamp off to his brother's lab, and the frustration felt like it was eating away at his lungs. Every second of this crapfest made him sick for how simple life had been when they were kids, followed by reality smacking him with the memory that life had never been simple. He'd just been blind to how fucked up it was, and now that he was in the real game, he couldn't remember what it felt like to get a good, deep breath.

     "If the ring toss is looking at cross traffic here," Hawkeye said, "we might want to shift its position somewhere that won't make a bottleneck."

     Who the fuck was the ring toss was supposed to be? How was he supposed to keep track of who was what when somebody else was basically picking these codes out a hat, brand new every week? _Fuck_ this. Mustang knew what he was looking at, everyone knew what they were looking at, and all they had to do was turn the puzzle pieces together till they fit. As near as Ed could tell, he was the only one here who couldn't keep up.

     Damn it, he was _good_ at puzzles! Even if the pieces were upside down or he'd never seen the final shape he was trying to build or he just had a bunch of stupid, unlabeled dots to work with...

     He could do puzzles. He could do _this_. Just not the way everyone else did it.

     Breathing in, he tried to clear every fucking thing on the board out of his mind, and then tried not to see the board at all. Just the raw data, burned into his eyes. This was a maze, right? No, a labyrinth. They weren't trying to get out. They were trying to get in. To follow a fucked up knot of paths that all led back to a monster in the middle, and what he had to do was plot a trajectory to where the monster was hiding.

     And what he had to go on were echoes. No solid walls on the map to follow, just patterns of people and rumors and fucking unscientific observations that chained together, tracking back to the source, evolving along the way. But who led back to whom?

     _Leg bones connected to the knee bones..._ a voice in his head crooned as he shuffled through every report he'd memorized on the crazy lies people had decided to believe about him and Roy and Al. Points flickered in his brain, clumping into groups. One clump for people saying Al helped the army find a hidden pass through the mountains, one for people saying Ed had perfected alchemical transportation, one for people saying Roy'd just taken advantage of the situation when he and Ed had gone up to end the invasion, one for every distinct flavor of bullshit people could make up... and that was the easy part.

     Stretching those clumps into branches, making a cascading trail out of a mill of people... Now that was harder.

     Knee bones connected to the thigh bones. Thigh bones connected to the hip bones. But they didn't connect the same way. They weren't the same shapes. Knowing how to make the rumors make sense as a progression, knowing which end was up, which end was their goal -- that was the kick in the ass. The versions where people said Roy was baking notes into packages of eclairs was probably further from the source -- signal degradation, static on the line -- but which versions were closer? It wasn't like any were true, or he could base it on who had the most stuff right.

     Hadn't Roy said the trick was to compare versions of rumors? If two variations had significant points in common, they were probably closer to the source. The lies about Roy selling out while he'd been stationed at that outpost up North were something anybody could've made up, but not the detail about him using a shovel in a snowbank as a signal. That cropped up in some of both the mountain pass versions and the teleportation versions. Whoever'd said the Drachman soldiers gave that up in an interrogation had to be closer to the goal than to the edge. Little things like that...

     Shoulder bones connected to the neck bones, more properly termed 'the spinal column'. Everything fucking connected to the spinal column.

     Ed pivoted the picture in his mind, letting the web sprawl out, all tracing back to a jumble in the middle where stories overlapped and mostly people knew that Roy Mustang was too much of a slick bastard to count anything out. Who didn't know that?

     But finally he could see a pattern of who talked to whom in Central, and play with the pieces like a twisted, crazy mix of an accordion and a kaleidoscope. Crossroads and links started to spin in his brain as his eyes started to hurt too much to keep them open. The trend lines all glowed in his headspace, behind the sting of eyelids hitting dryness.

     Spinal cord connected to the skull bone.

     Ring toss connected to the face paint.

     Tiny goldfish dancing in the fish-flipping booth right at the center of the conspiracy mess, laughing at him for not seeing how obvious it all was...

     Edward slammed his notebook shut in his hands and smacked it against his forehead to knock all the noise out of his head. Everyone at the table fell silent, too, staring at him like he was crazy.

     "_What?!_" he yelled, hauling up to the chalkboard.

     He took the picture in his head and fitted it to the points on the arbitrary layout on the chalkboard, then traced out the lines that mattered and circled the goddamn goldfish booth where they all intersected. Once it was up, he turned away to shake the image of the street festival out of his head again. That fucking thing made his brain feel like his eyes were crossed, times two hundred and eight.

     "You want a main event?" Ed growled at nobody in particular. "Start looking there. I'm getting water."

     As he sailed out the door, the conversation started up behind him, but he didn't hear it. His brain was set on putting one foot in front of the other, walking down the hall to the water cooler, filling his cup, and letting the cool stream drip down his throat. Then, and only then, he finally felt like his brain had caught up with his body. Or his body had caught up with his brain. One of those. Either way, he stared at the air and reveled in the miracle of a corner just being a corner for one quiet moment.

     Slow and steady footsteps strode down the hall, sounding like smug. Because his incoming jackass-in-chief-slash-inamorato could sound like smug just by walking. Because somehow, their 'relationship' was still happening, when Ed had been sure the military's favorite heartthrob would've come to his senses. Dating Roy was starting to feel ... real. And that wasn't as scary as he'd thought it'd be. Instead, his lover's fingers brushing his bangs off his face made about 73% of the tension fall out of his shoulders.

     "I'm not sorry, Roy. I'll be back when I'm done with my water, and that's that."

     The Colonel leaned against the wall beside him. "All right. Everyone thinks your insight checks out. We're moving ahead with it."

     "They were halfway there already. All I did was draw some fucking lines. I can't do anything with it."

     "Several people who are very good at their jobs have an actionable analysis, a full day ahead of schedule. This is what teams are for."

     That bastard kept smiling, as if somebody weren't hiding in the shadows somewhere putting targets on their backs. Roy could at least have the decency to pretend he'd halfway considered feeling threatened. Ed threw down his last gulp of water and stomped back toward the office. "Well, it's not like I could be doing something _more useful_."

     The air behind him felt heavy, like Roy had turned on extra gravity in lieu of holding him back. With a sigh that almost grew into a laugh, his boyfriend spoke at last. "It's selfish, I realize that -- asking you to work so far out of your element. But I'm not sorry, either."

     He pushed through the office door, feeling Roy's presence on his heels. An oncoming barrage of officers clamored past them into the hallway like they were afraid they'd miss the newsreel at the last picture show of the night, then paused. The whole team stared as Hawkeye presented Roy with a thin stack of papers.

     "Sir. My report on the meeting and our recommendations for how to proceed. What are your orders?"

     "Hmm." Roy dropped into the office, leaning against the nearest desk and reading the notes for all of three seconds. "Captain Hawkeye, Lieutenant Falman. Would you take care of inventorying the syrup stock for the snowcone booth? Captain Havoc, I assume you can manage a detailed check on equipment for the hamburger stand without assistance. Which leaves the all-important task of quality-checking goldfish dippers for Lieutenant Breda and 2nd Lieutenant Fuery. I'll have a full priority list for all of you when you come back. And..." The Colonel broke into a grin as he turned the last page. "Well, what an excellent suggestion. Fullmetal, you'll be seeing to the ticket booth throughout the operation. Our dedicated regulatory officer, as it were."

     All the officers on the team saluted and hurried off. Even for their manic joke of a workspace, they were moving at speed. Then, just as the blond tufts sticking out of the back of Hawkeye's hair knot disappeared past the doorframe, it clicked.

     'Ticket booth' was code for their own office. Him 'watching the ticket booth' meant watching Roy's back.

     He was _assigned to bodyguard Roy_ for the duration of this whole fucking escapade.

     The door to the hallway banged into the wall as he ran out after the assholes who thought they were so damn funny. "_Is that really necessary?!_" Ed screamed. Setting him up with Roy had worked, damn it! They could do the rest of this dating nonsense on their own! And shit like that wasn't even subtle! Not that locking them in freezer trucks together had been subtle, either.

     Breda's snicker echoed around the corner with the flight of footsteps.

     "Aaaagh!"

     Edward stormed back into the office and slammed the door, jamming a fist into Roy's chest as he snarled into the man's face. "And _you_! You're a fucking enabler! You think I didn't see that just now? What, are you saying I'm such an incompetent boyfriend, you..." He swallowed his instinctive complaint about getting ordered to watch Roy's ass, which he didn't need to get told to do no matter how anybody meant it. Far be it for him to bitch at his commanding officer in _uncoded language_. "... you think you need to _chain me to a ticket booth_ with you for us to go on a date? Is that it?!"

     "Not at all."

     The blue-suited bastard had him by the waist before Ed could blink, pulling their bodies tighter together and stealing a brush of his lips. He tried to recall when in the last two weeks Roy had gotten that good at sneaking inside his guard, but the scent of aftershave lingering on the man's skin despite the hectic day left Edward confused. Everything was a citrus and cardamom haze recalling late nights, creaking hinges on doors letting all the cold air in, and nerves that made him say 'goodbye' instead of 'stay'. He wanted to say 'stay'. But this wasn't the time!

     It was like Hawkeye's joke was a magic spell that had transformed the Colonel into the careless playboy half of Central thought he was. Playboy, yes. Careless, never.

     "I don't see any problem taking advantage of an opportunity. Do you, Fullmetal?" Roy asked. A step back, and Ed was on somebody's desk -- Fuery's, given how close they were to the door -- trying not to wrap his legs around the waist of someone who did not deserve to get rewarded for bad behavior. Maybe 'Roy being un-pushy' would have to come off his list of problems with life. Roy acting more worried about their libidos than his own neck was even more annoying.

     But with the weeks of frustration, in the office and out of it, he didn't want to stop Roy from catching his lapel, pulling him close enough to feel his lover's quickened breath on his lips. Answering the press of Roy's mouth with a flash of tongue was all instinct. Edward could tell, if Roy had pushed him back into the house one night, hands brushing up under his vest like they were doing now -- and when had it come unbuttoned? -- they wouldn't have made it to the stairs, let alone the bed, and the groan of the couch when they hit it wouldn't have slowed him down.

     Damn it.

     That meant Roy could've set him off any time he wanted. Which meant the Colonel had actually been listening when Ed said he didn't feel right messing around given all the shit they had to manage. That asshole wasn't just ignoring it because he was okay with not having sex, and Ed couldn't remember which option pissed him off more.

     "Is there a reason you're acting like a fucking hound dog?" Ed hissed, barely loud enough to hear himself. If the sound wasn't audible past the inch to Roy's ear, the bugs in their office wouldn't catch jack. Whoever was listening wouldn't turn up the gain if they thought they were listening to Roy macking on...

     That goddamn fucking bastard.

     "There's something bothering you that you're not telling me about," Roy whispered, hands withdrawn to Ed's thighs, although the racing in Edward's chest didn't subside.

     "If you can't have this conversation out loud, maybe we should have it somewhere else."

     "It's affecting you now, so I want to know -- now -- if we need contingencies other than a safety net for Alphonse. I assume you haven't brought up your concerns because this operation neglected to give you a code word to alert the team?"

     "_This operation_ knows what I'm worried about, Roy." One look at the man's steely-eyed game face told Ed that Roy already knew the problem. He was only asking now because he wanted to be a jackass and to make Ed say it out loud. "In case you haven't noticed, _our lead_ is a trail of people talking about putting you in front of a firing squad. Me and Al could probably run, and the bigwigs might even let us." The urge to yell almost got him. Ed swallowed, lowering his voice back to a hush. "But no fucking way this'll stop until you have a draft from your ass to your ears, and I'm sick of you not giving a shit!"

     Once more, his commander's whispers were barely audible. He supposed he ought to be grateful that Roy had gone to the trouble of having a straight up conversation, even if Roy's methods were a little self-indulgent. "I'm in no present danger, Fullmetal. Because they're using you as leverage to get to me, and I will never let anyone get their hands on you. _Quod erat demonstrandum_."

     "Your logic sucks ass. First you try to prove a negative, and now that circular piece of bullshit." His grip tightened in Roy's shirt and he stared off over the man's shoulder, gritting his teeth. "I love you. So don't blow this." Ed's cheeks burned like his blood was trying to invade his head and choke him. The last thing he wanted to see was Roy's shocked face. He pushed off the desk toward the inner office before Roy could say anything cocky, smug, or embarrassing. "_And don't kiss me at work!_" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

     That felt good. Yelling.

     Mostly. The rest might've calmed him down a little, too, but he'd never admit it to Roy. That bastard would find a way to take credit.

     Roy caught him at the threshold between the outer office and his personal office, shock gone and enough seriousness in his face that Ed knew whatever he had to ask couldn't possibly be important. "Would you define, '_at work_', Fullmetal? Is that whenever we're in this building, or just during office hours?"

     "How is this confusing?! I don't want you kissing me _when we're working_!" Ed shoved Roy in the chest once more for good measure. "Not during office stuff, not out on a mission, not when you ought to be making a job priority list for your team, not in any kind of public workspace, not when you want to _talk shop_...!" He added, nodding his chin at the desk where Roy had decided to make out with him for fucking cover, as if Roy didn't know how much kissing took him off balance. "I don't like it. Sometime when we don't have work to do, I will kiss and/or have sex with you _in a house_. A personal residence, belonging to one or the other of _us specifically_, with doors locked and no company."

     For a second, the smirk on Roy's face as he traced Ed's chin looked like he planned to ignore all objections and pick up where they'd left off. Then he picked up his packet of notes and headed toward his desk. "I'll be sure to include that among my priorities."

     "Writing that down on official paperwork _counts as work_ and invalidates all offers!"

     "Edward, once Capt. Hawkeye comes back, would you stop by Research?" The bastard was nearly singing, he sounded so happy. "Lt. General Bloch should have something for you."

     Weird. Al didn't usually send more than one scheduled telegram in a day, and if it was urgent somebody from R&amp;D would've called. But whatever. "I could go now. Why do I--"

     Roy cut him off with a look.

     Right. 'Ticket booth'. If someone was stupid enough to mess with Roy, he had to stop it.

     Well, watching the asshole's back for flying daggers or just being around so nobody could trap Roy in a compromising situation didn't sound so bad. He'd have done that anyway.

~//~

     Pushing a box to Elric over the desk, Bloch managed to keep a straight face despite the blond's suspicious glare. He should've known Mustang wouldn't tell the kid what this was about.

     "I figured you wouldn't want any ceremony, Colonel Elric."

     The kid opened the box, eyes wide on the rank insignia inside with its three gleaming stars. "_What?!_ Whose bright idea was it to make me a Colonel? I didn't want to be a _Lieutenant_ Colonel!" He twisted his mouth as he caught his temper and met Bloch's eye. "... Sir."

     "You don't want to be one step away from being the third State Alchemist currently alive and in service to hold a General's rank?" Bloch laughed. "At this rate, you might even get onto the Council before Mustang does." Not a real risk, but the blond didn't know that yet.

     The horror on Elric's face was answer enough. No one needed to tell Bloch he wasn't cut out to be a soldier, let alone for a command rank meant to lead thousands of soldiers. At least Edward knew it, too, unlike most of the State Alchemists who decided to keep their commission. If he'd ever wondered why Roy Mustang had fought so hard for the past three years to get a civilian corps established -- a whole rank of State Alchemists who'd never get called to the battlefield -- Bloch had all the reasons he needed standing across the desk from him now. Mustang looked out for his own, the way Bloch had failed to do when he'd protested the Ishbal strike plan. Bradley had banished him from the strategy meetings to the Southern border, and he'd never know how much less blood those boys could have spilled if he'd been at the front to change whatever he could. That was one, single crime the Flame Alchemist would never carry. Bloch had studied enough of Elric's record to be sure of that.

     Everyone who hadn't noticed was a fool. Elric himself wasn't a fool at all. He narrowed his eyes and clicked the insignia box shut. "But why would you be giving me this, Lt. General?"

     With a sigh, Bloch answered, "Because the day after I asked Brigadier General Mustang not to station his men in my department, he dropped all the forms on my desk to transfer you to the civilian State Alchemists' program under my control. I'll be your official contact with the military as a State Alchemist, as well as managing your annual recertification, but strictly as a liaison. Your promotion is a decommissioning present from the Council, reinstating the rank they gave you when they thought you were dead. You, _Mr._ Elric, are now legally a private citizen."

     Lines around Edward's mouth and in his forehead carved furrows across his face. He looked more upset about the transfer than he had about the promotion. That was the last thing Bloch had expected. He was about to ask why when Edward started talking again.

     "Roy wouldn't do that," he hissed. "I've still got a job to do in Security. He can't send me away. He told me..." The blond grit his teeth into a scowl. Well, Bloch had already seen more than enough evidence as to where Edward's loyalties were.

     The boy's eyes were as sharp as razors. "Lt. General, what's it gonna take to get me back into Roy's office?"

     "You want to be a civilian consult to the Security department?"

     "That bastard." Edward shook his head. "I knew there had to be a way."

     Bloch found himself wondering if Mustang had already drawn up the paperwork for the civilian clearances Elric would need to do the job, and to request that the opening exist. Just as fast, he realized that -- thanks to a technicality of protocol -- he couldn't order Edward to tell him what this was about anymore.

     Piece after piece of the game Mustang had been playing, at least as far as the Fullmetal Alchemist's commission was concerned, clicked into place. The upstart Brigadier had lobbied to get the civilian corps established so it'd be here when the kid came home -- but that wasn't where he'd gone. Mustang had sniped him back at first, only to transfer him in a red-hot rush starting two weeks ago...

     As soon as talk amongst the upper brass had started hinting that it wasn't safe to keep the boy in Mustang's hands? Bloch didn't see how any of them could seriously believe that Mustang or Elric was a traitor (maybe traitors didn't wear signs, but Bloch liked to think his gut was right about those two). Besides, anybody who thought there was a chance of another coup coming out of that office should've been trying to separate Mustang from his entire staff, not just Elric, as if a transfer had ever changed whose orders Mustang's people took.

     But everybody who'd seen what Edward was capable of -- and who hadn't realized that the elder Elric was an insubordinate hellion who only answered to Mustang -- had floated a scheme that landed the Fullmetal Alchemist in their own camp. Now they couldn't take him.

     Because Mustang had taken the initiative, and detached Edward to a place of his own choosing. Namely, Bloch's little corner of the bureaucracy, where Bloch's signature on a few pieces of paper was all that remained for Mustang to take the Fullmetal Gambit free and clear. No chance that a transfer order would reassign his former Lieutenant Colonel. No control Mustang could exert over Elric's actions that another General could make an official complaint about. Clearly no doubt in Mustang's mind that Edward would find his way back to do whatever Mustang needed him for. Maybe one of the Generals would care enough to invent a way to object, since the civilian corps was new and not all of its guidelines were set in stone, but they'd have to outwit Bloch's own work to keep the State Alchemists safe in case war struck again.

     Never let it be said that the Flame Alchemist played messy. It was such a clean way to keep his ace up his sleeve, the only unsavory detail was why -- Bloch assumed -- he hadn't pushed for this months ago.

     With a sigh, Bloch rubbed his nose and narrowed his eyes at Elric. "You may as well get back to Security. No sense wasting everybody's time while we sort out the red tape. And when you get there, tell Mustang that I don't appreciate his need to test my character."

     The blond puzzled up his face. Then, the lines relaxed as he seemed to grasp the request. "You think if Roy had a problem with your character, he'd let you keep Al?"

     Bloch had no interest in considering for the moment what plans Mustang had riding on the younger Elric. He'd just keep his eye out for what their head of Security was planning to do next. Mustang never made moves this obvious, this fast, without one hell of a reason.

     "Don't keep him waiting," Bloch answered, nodding at the door.

~//~

     Whoever had told Blackburn that the Eastern Liaison posting was a peaceful coffee-and-cake desk job was fraud and a liar. There was no peace in Lieutenants Breda and Fuery's argument over where his economic reports said they could find the best goldfish dippers. And thanks to their helpful suggestions for sorting new evidence about the rabbit-hole (actually helpful, so Blackburn couldn't bring himself to order them to mind their own business), their "fifteen minutes of research" had ballooned into forty-five, plus a promise to help out with some paperwork next Monday. Maybe the rest of the week, too.

     Didn't _Mustang_ have them doing anything?

     He would have kept the door closed to block the noise, or asked them to quiet down, but most of the Council wanted him to just watch. Lt. General Fieseler had thought Mustang was bad news for years, and Marshal Wright and General Hakuro had both renewed interest as soon as Elric came back -- not to mention how everyday at 3PM, Major General Defiant would "just poke his nose in" to see if anything had sprung up on that "whole rabbit-hole mess".

     Why had the most interesting mystery in the last ten years fallen under the purview of the Eastern Liaison's Office?

     And if anyone from Mustang's office were around, naturally, any General would stand there and watch, silent as could be. In the last military government, people used to at least pretend they had a viable command structure and mutual trust, even if there'd turned out to be secret factions and conspiracies under the surface. Now the command structure was more of a gentleman's agreement dressed up in protocol, and mutual trust was hard to come by. From time to time, Blackburn wondered where his commanding officers threw their hats -- and by extension, which side he himself was on.

     Maybe they'd get lucky, and Major General Saulnier would be right about the international athletics competition (someone needed to find a better name) offering "new grounds for national pride". Something that could "reforge the bonds of fellowship". At least the upcoming summit might distract the higher-ups from loitering in Blackburn's office.

     2nd Lieutenant Fuery let out a surprised yelp towards Sgt. Major Junkers's desk. "Do you really believe that?"

     Junkers must have asked something that wasn't goldfish related. Now Fuery was choking and stammering over Lt. Breda's chuckles. "Brigadier General Mustang would have a _much_ better plan if he wanted to take over the government! I mean..." The bespectacled man pushed his hair back from his forehead with a light-hearted grimace. "Oh, that came out wrong."

     That again. Blackburn halfway hoped Mustang _would_ take over the government, just so people would stop trying to decide if he _might_. It seemed like the only event that could possibly settle the question.

     "He said it himself, though," Breda answered. "Yesterday, remember? After that story about him teleporting into Drachma and then teleporting back with all those troops?"

     Fuery laughed and turned back to Junkers. "Just when Captain Hawkeye thought she'd gotten him to start his paperwork, he says, '_Why would I take the trouble to set up a government when there's one already in place? It's inefficient!_' He must have gone on for half an hour!" Turning back to Breda, he asked, "Do you think he still plans to be Fuhrer?"

     Breda shrugged. "Probably." Even Junkers was laughing now, as if it were ludicrous to think that the man with more coup d'etat attempts on his record than anyone who hadn't lost his military commission to a firing squad would attempt to overthrow the government _again_. "Where'd you hear that nonsense anyway?" Mustang's man asked.

     "From a friend in Marshal Wright's office." Junkers turned back to his filing, shaking his head. "I bet it's just one of those rumors."

     It couldn't be. Mustang wouldn't have dispatched two officers to volunteer weeks of their time assisting the Eastern Liaison just so they could keep the rank and file from turning rumors into a witch hunt.

     But when had Blackburn had gotten anywhere assuming he knew what Roy Mustang would and would not do?

     Next through the door was General Hakuro. If this pace of distractions kept up, he might not finish the coordination and cross-referencing of rabbit-hole data Lt. General Fieseler had requested by the end of the day. More overtime, Blackburn thought with a sick feeling in his stomach as he stood to salute Hakuro. Overtime on a Friday. But if he worked fast, he might get home before his wife finished dinner.

     The General's eyes narrowed at Mustang's men in the corner, who didn't seem to care about Hakuro staring at them. "Colonel Blackburn."

     "Sir!"

     "Would you care to tell me what those gentlemen are doing with your files?"

     Chewing the words in his mouth before he spoke them, Blackburn said exactly what they'd told him. What their conversations had comprised for an hour now, so the story was solid, if ridiculous. "They're doing price comparisons on goldfish dippers. For the festival. Sir."

     "I see." The white-haired General took a long breath in and turned back to Blackburn's desk. "The Council is waiting on the most recent report from Stravik Town. When will you have that together?"

     "Before I leave today, sir," he answered, surveying the stacks of histories compiled from interviewing locals and the results of all the dispatched alchemists' attempts to detect anything whatsoever at Edward Elric's point of entry. With any luck, that would satisfy everyone.

     The old man looked more begrudging than satisfied. "When you deliver my copy, I want you to include a list detailing every file Mustang's men looked into while they were here."

     "... Of course, sir."

     Because that wasn't ludicrous. Since those files were completely unclassified, no one needed to sign them out individually. His only hope of getting a list was to catch them before they cleaned up their mess, and it looked like Fuery and Breda had been refiling their research as they went along. There wasn't a trail to find. Maybe if he asked, they'd tell him? They seemed like decent fellows. He didn't see any reason to think they'd lie about _goldfish dippers_.

     Hakuro sneered at the men hard at work in the next room. "Mustang might fool everyone else into thinking he's nothing but a slouch, but he'll never fool me."

     "Yes, sir."

     Blackburn declined to mention that he'd heard at least three other Generals say the same thing since he'd come in to work this morning.

~//~

_[Early February]_

     Watching Edward-kun tap a slow rhythm on Danny's bar told Hawkeye he was in no mood to celebrate, no matter how quickly he'd eaten the cake that used to be on his plate. He pushed a half-drunk rum and cranberry juice against his presents and glared at Roy.

     "He's fine, Edward," the Brigadier answered. "If there were anything more serious than a delayed train, Alphonse would get word through."

     "Trains have been running on time for weeks. He should be here. I want to know he's not dead, okay?" The door creaked open, and Edward-kun cast his eyes over -- his turn to decide whether the person walking in was an ordinary patron or a problem. "_Minor_ concern," he snarled, hitting the code word for someone who didn't look like trouble as he grabbed the flipbook Breda had made from his gift pile.

     No one had made an attempt on Roy's life yet, or on Edward-kun's, but there'd been more than enough attempts to discredit them. Quite a few cameramen had lost their film to a handclap transmutation they never saw. More than one tail had been scared off by being unable to get Roy alone. Too many planted papers and paraphernalia 'revealing' communications between Roy Mustang and Drachma had drifted into the office, all duly catalogued and analyzed for hints as to who might have prepared them.

     Of which there were few. Handwriting and diction mimicked Roy's too well, and even typed notes had had their sources disguised. Each line had been typed over at least twice, on different typewriters, and rarely the same two for any other line. Identifying the machines based on strike weight or letter shapes was exponentially harder that way.

     At least they could follow anyone who showed their face.

     The door opened again. This time Hawkeye looked back: General Bloch and his wife, heading straight over to their party. She leaned against the bar, next to where Roy was peeking at Ed's new flipbook and the rest of the officers laughed into their beers. "Sir. I never did hear how the pepper story ended."

     Roy laughed and pretended to notice the newcomers as if he hadn't just been warned. "Lt. General? Mrs. Bloch? If I'd known you were coming, we'd have held off cutting the cake!"

     Blinking and bewildered, Edward-kun spun around on his stool. "How did you know it was my birthday?"

     "That's in your service record, Fullmetal," Roy murmured -- loud enough for everyone to hear, for all that he leaned into Edward-kun's ear. He blocked a metal elbow strike with a grin Hawkeye had thought she'd never see again.

     "I know I won't make up for bad news." Bloch swept off his hat with a sigh. "Your brother called. His train is behind a blockade."

     Edward-kun's forehead furrowed into a V above his eyebrows. "But he's okay."

     "It may take until Sunday to clear the tracks, but the saboteurs are in custody. Nobody's in danger." The Rubicon Alchemist produced a leather-bound volume that looked like it'd been left in a sandstorm. "He said to come here, and to bring this from his desk."

     The blond's eyes widened as he flipped the book open. "Where the hell did Al find an original treatise from _Atossa_? That place burned to the ground two thousand years ago!"

     The General's wife, Lucy, pulled her husband back as he tried to peek at the text with the same consuming attention that had Edward-kun and Roy practically nose to paper. In some ways, all alchemists were the same. "Alphonse-kun does have a knack for finding things that shouldn't exist," she said, taking a second book from Lt. General Bloch's hand and adding her own. "And since we were coming to see you, we thought we'd bring these, instead of Mistan bringing them in Monday. Happy birthday, Edward-kun."

     "Thanks." He cocked his head at the titles as he took the books. "I love thermodynamics. And... what's... '_Bridge_'?"

     "A card game," General Bloch answered. "When you learn it, General Lancaster, Marshal Levochkin, and I could use a fourth -- since Maj. General Saulnier is busy with those talks, you know. No offense, Brigadier," he laughed at Roy. "You always win, and Mr. Elric has made quite the impression on the Marshal."

     Hawkeye made a note to rework their schedules. Edward-kun would learn the rules by next week, and the chance was too good. The rest of them could watch Roy for those hours.

     Lucy took one of the beers Havoc offered, passing the other mug to the General. "More than one Marshal," she added. "Last time I saw my father, all he could talk about was that paper you did on public safety. He certainly thinks you've got nerve, writing about what a government can and _can't_ do. Although I rather liked it."

     "Why would anybody care what I wrote about a prehistoric storybook-land like Kyrus?"

     Before she could answer, a small crowd piled in the door, raising a loud cheer as Falman looked over to check the patrons. The grizzled Lieutenant broke in with a grimace. "Any flash of insight will make an old topic new, won't it?" But while Lucy and the General nodded, Edward-kun and Roy hid frowns, Roy better than Edward. They'd both heard the code word.

     Flash. Potential hidden camera. Whether someone planned to stage a compromising scene or doctor the picture later, they couldn't take the chance.

     Hawkeye glanced at the mirrored wall behind the bar and saw a man in a hat settling at a nearby table -- a silver box in his hand like a cigarette case, except for a lens catching the light. Havoc and Breda drifted their conversation closer to his table for a better look, while Fuery stepped out the front door to tail the man if he bolted and Falman distracted their guests.

     The Lieutenant guided them to seats at the bar, where their backs were to Roy and Edward-kun. "General, Sir... Mrs. Bloch. My cousin in South City asked me to thank you for everything you did, rebuilding after the Aerugo conflict--"

     "Time for my present," Hawkeye whispered to Edward as he packed his gifts away. "Leave. You have the night off."

     The blond's sideways scowl deepened. "But..."

     She shook her head. "Happy birthday. Get home safe."

     Roy pushed him away from the bar, towards the back exit. "If you'd prefer not to leave me alone, you can tell me more about that theory you had." While Edward-kun waited at the edge of the bar, Roy intruded on General Bloch's conversation with a smile. "I hope you'll pardon us, Lt. General. Ed wanted to get the Atossa manuscript somewhere, ah ... _drier_, and I thought I'd see he gets it home intact."

     Sharing a chuckle with his wife, the other alchemist shook his head. "You mean you want him to let you read it." Roy shrugged, confirming the General's suspicion and saying no one could blame him all in one vague gesture. Bloch clapped him on the arm and nodded his goodbyes. "I'd do the same if I were you."

     "Lt. General. Ma'am."

     Havoc and Breda managed to stay between their spy and Roy through the exchange, up to the moment her commander pushed Edward-kun out the back door. Bloch, however, saw them leave, narrowing his eyes at their choice of exits. Nor did he miss the stranger in the low-brimmed hat rushing out the front, two of Roy's team at a discreet distance behind.

     "Captain Hawkeye," the Rubicon Alchemist called out, his relaxed tone offset by the way he stared at the exit. "I understand Brigadier General Mustang has had a hard time lately, what with all these rumors going around."

     "Nothing more than we can handle, Lt. General."

     "But... only rumors, correct?"

     Roy believed Lt. General Bloch could be trusted, but he wasn't one of theirs. She chose her words carefully. "May I speak freely, sir?" He nodded, chuckling into his mug of beer. "There can't be real proof of anything he didn't do. Sir."

     "Real proof, huh?" He nodded again, face twisted in a scowl. "Captain Hawkeye. Ask your commander to see me on Monday. I get the feeling not all your department's overtime hours have gone in the logs."

     "First thing on his schedule, sir."

~//~

     Roy paused their discussion on decomposing matter to check the windows. All the traps he and Ed had laid were intact. No need to reset anything, or to scan for surveillance and planted evidence. Edward nodded to say he thought the same, and Roy brushed the array inlaid on his key to trigger the lock.

     Even a master locksmith couldn't get in without breaking the door itself. It looked like they could start their night without trouble. Whether one of their neverending emergencies would strike at the usual inopportune moment remained to be seen. Charming as it had been to hear Fullmetal scream at no one, '_Just let me fuck him already!_' after Tuesday's office break-in alarm, Roy would have rather spent the evening in his lover's bed.

     "So tell me, Edward. If your theory does work--"

     "_It fucking works!_"

     "-- how do we have inert material at all? This concept of mass as solidified energy, locked in opposing tensions that the pleroma differentiates into the creatura--"

     "Forces in bonded matter cancel each other out, like a negative ion and a positive! Put 'em together, and you've got a neutral molecule!"

     He tapped the sleet from his boots, slipping them off inside the threshold. "But I'm not convinced you can generate an alchemical reaction using it. You'd get that energy after separating the parts via transmutation."

     "The energy's there."

     "Inert. We need a catalyst."

     Edward growled and stripped off his coat, tossing it over his bag of gifts as he strode toward the bookshelf. Roy hung it on the coat rack next to his own and felt a private smile as the fabric slipped through his fingers. For once, with Edward in stark blacks and reds stirring up his old flat, the air wasn't stale. Roy found himself feeling more at home when Ed was here than when he wasn't. And he could hardly complain about the aesthetic changes. Who would mind the blond ponytail dancing as Ed reached for two books on the top of a towering stack?

     "This is stupid. You know that, Roy?"

     "Catalysts are perfectly reasonable."

     "_Fuck you_." Ed steamrolled towards him, thumping the two books into his chest. One was Roy's favorite frontier novel that, careworn though it was, had survived his life for twenty-six years. The other was pristine -- a comedy, Roy had been told when he'd gotten it in the officers' holiday exchange. He'd never read it, and probably never would, which was why Edward had chosen it: it'd never move outside of their security protocols.

     "I come in, I take the book off the shelf. I go out, I put it back. At the office, fine! But I don't need a signal _here_! I come in _with you_ because I shadow you sixteen fucking hours a day!"

     Roy laid the books and his uniform jacket on the bare excuse for a table next to his couch. He spun the dog-eared novel, its picture of a man on a horse nearly faded off the cover. "If you arrive one morning to find that book on the table and me not here, you'd be glad to know I hadn't just stepped out."

     "If somebody came after you, there'd be more to show for it than a book."

     "Never assume a kidnapper can't give you a reason to go quietly." Roy backed Ed against the bookshelf, combing his fingers through blond bangs that fell over sharp eyes. "So, once we've isolated the catalyst to unlock all this potential energy--"

     "We know how to trigger alchemical reactions, Roy."

     "--we'll need to keep that energy in check. The premise, as I understand it, is that we can disrupt the structure keeping the twin forces balanced, contained, and stable. But our only security is a means to forestall a chain reaction that consumes reality completely."

     Edward's mouth wrinkled with a pained, thoughtful expression, the one that Roy usually pictured when he thought of his lover in his now-rare absences. "That's something, anyway."

     "That's theoretical, and I'd rather not test it until we have primary containment."

     The blond pushed into a kiss, brushing lips and teasing Roy's tongue before he shoved toward the couch. "Wuss."

     The room seemed so alive with Ed in it -- kicking off his boots, sinking into the cushions, putting his feet on the coffee table as he studied a sketch he'd pulled from the locked box under the couch. Roy couldn't recall how he'd failed to notice that his house used to be empty. No matter, though. He sat next to Ed on the couch and whispered in his ear. "I prefer the world where I'm currently in residence to remain intact."

     "Got any bright ideas?" The blond traced the array in his hand, here and there sketching a sigil in the air where it might go on the circle. "Power, I can get. I've got some ideas on how to send information without a signal anybody can intercept, maybe teleport if I can work this--"

     "Don't tell anyone you think you can teleport. Too many people believe you can already."

     "--but localizing the effect is a hell of a trick. Magnets could work, if we... Ha!" _Slam_, the array went down on the table, and the blond flew forward to grab a new sheet. Roy watched the pencil jump from spot to spot on the page as he rested his arm in the warm bend of his lover's back. Edward had to be the only alchemist he'd ever seen design a cubic array without an inch-thick chart of solid angle measurements. "Magnetism works through a vacuum. Contact problem solved. We just need a way to catch something like that." Drumming the pencil against the table, he growled into his hand, and Roy reached for their list of probable side effects. "We could box matter up, no problem," Ed sighed, "but we're talking the dissolution of matter. Something that flows through reality like water through a net. If we build _real_ walls--"

     Roy pulled Edward back. "What did you say?"

     Ed huffed at a lock of hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Which part?"

     "Like water through a net. How literal is that?"

     "I'm not even sure what you're asking me right now. It's an expression. About stuff moving through stuff."

     Tapping a diagram of their target state, Roy studied lines of attraction and repulsion. He'd been worried about the non-matter state touching matter and decomposing it, not colocating with it. "What makes you think this is a fluid system? The patterns look crystalline."

     "Well, yeah. But watch this..." Beside his cubic array, Edward sketched a frame for matter in a composed state and another for decomposed matter, force lines running between them. Roy kissed his neck while he studied the lines; his lover swatted away his lips, but dropped the hand to Roy's thigh. "When these energize matter around them, even if it doesn't cause a chain reaction, it still passes through. On this level, there's no _stuffness_ to stuff. It's force repulsion, and decomposed matter functionally has none. If you get picky, it's more like vibration than water, but the source is moving, not just the effects."

     Roy pulled over another paper and tested a few permutations. "I'll be damned. It just might act like a fluid. And if I'm seeing this right, the best answer may be to make it contain _itself_. Tomorrow, remind me to get you a book on cloud theory."

     "You have got to be kidding."

     "We need to determine its surface tension. All fluids are fundamentally chaotic so it won't be simple, but hardly impossible. We can--"

     "No, I mean, how do you have no books on cloud theory in your house? _I_ have books on cloud theory."

     "Ah." Roy charted a few rough vector spaces he thought might help with containment. "Well, I do, of course. I'm thinking of a particular book."

     The other alchemist snatched up the figures he'd been drawing. "Don't tell me you want me to read that fucking _Rickbaum paper_ you've got at the office!" Roy answered with a grin. "Damn it, Roy! Rickbaum's an idiot! I read that treatise he did on geological pressure. He's a fucking blowhard with more holes in his logic than a pincushion with dryrot! It's bad enough you've still got me writing that Kyrus bullshit."

     And Roy couldn't have been happier with it. Lucy Bloch wasn't the only one impressed by his work. General Lancaster's proposals on centralized disaster support had treated a few of Edward's theories as accepted truth. But the day that Edward realized he, who took such pride in refusing to understand politics, was a respected political theorist would come too soon even without Roy's help. He laughed instead of mentioning it, and fell back into the couch.

     "Rickbaum's an idiot and his conclusions are fallacious, but he has more detailed observations on fluid topology than anyone in the field. Just because he can't make it work doesn't mean we can't."

     Edward scowled over his shoulder. "Fine. Asshole. I assume we're not making a midnight trip to the office to get it?"

     "God, no. I'd rather have some sleep before sorting out Rickbaum."

     "So we're kinda done for the night." Edward took to his feet, stretching his back and neck. "How the hell did Captain Hawkeye buy us enough time to finish something?"

     Their downstairs cache of work locked away, metal box tucked into its hidden drawer, Roy contemplated the more tenuous alchemy of letting a lover into spaces that had always been his own. Not that taking Edward to the mindful elegance and soft sheets of a good hotel would have ever seemed right.

     "It's freezing out. You don't have to go home if you don't want to."

     "I put out cat food for the morning before we left my place, all the security fuckery is secure, and Al won't be back till Sunday. Going home wasn't the plan."

     He stood, wrapping an arm around Edward's waist and reaching for the tie holding up his ponytail. The crease it left in his unbound hair framed Ed's ear perfectly for a whisper. "Well, if you're staying, maybe I should put on some tea."

     "Is tea some kind of euphemism for sex now? 'Cause I'm not thirsty."

     "You might want some water later."

     An inch at first, then all at once with his eyes catching fire, Ed kissed him, dragging them to the couch. Leather stretched over firm thighs, sliding open at a push until nothing kept him from those hips but a few protesting layers of cloth. Shadows on Edward's collarbones painted a path to his undone collar and tasted of the bare hint of soap. Ed's voice shuddered. Their lips met again, his hands knotted in Edward's hair, his skin singing to the warm and cool pressures of hands pressed against his chest -- one flesh and bone, one carbon and steel. Hands that shook as the blond fumbled with the buttons on his vest and dropped it to the floor.

     The buttons on Ed's shirt were more trouble, slipping away without leaving the buttonholes. Ed ripped the whole thing over his head and blond hair rained around their shoulders. His lover's undershirt clung to Roy's hand as he traced Edward's heaving ribs, a bitten kiss stinging his lip. Then they both paused, and glanced at the silent telephone, then at the door.

     "No assassins knocking," Roy chuckled, pushing Ed onto his back across the seats. The space next to his skin had that first hint of sweaty musk, too easy to miss if you weren't paying attention.

     "Don't jinx it."

     The blond wrapped his legs around Roy's waist, grinding sparks down Roy's spine and a ragged gasp out of his throat. And Fullmetal was waiting, breath hot on his lips, to dart his tongue into Roy's mouth. Hard, technical, and nothing like anything anything he'd tried as lately as Tuesday.

     "Ed..." Roy chided, gripping steel through leather. "Did you read a _sex manual_?"

     "Don't smirk, you jackass! I've never done this before -- I don't want to get it wrong!"

     As if there'd been a chance of that. But far be it for him to denigrate industry.

     "When did you have the time?"

     "Here and there." Roy traced Edward's chin and cheek, chest settling to chest. "And I don't want to hear how you could've taught me everything I need to know. I wanted unbiased, verifiable third-party information."

     He kissed away Edward's snarl, letting his fingers memorize his lover's skin. With a sharp breath in, golden eyes squeezed shut and Roy trailed his lips down Ed's throat. "I'll have you off-book by the end of the night."

     "You wanna talk about it, or maybe take off your high hat and do it?"

     Ed rolled up, pushing into a half-growled kiss as Roy chased a peek of hip past an unfastened black leather waistband. His last drink had long since left his system, but he felt drunk on the touch of Edward's skin slipping under his fingers, the solid hit of Edward's voice turning wanton against his ear. Roy almost didn't realize what the metal touch on his neck meant, creeping up until it brushed the strap holding his patch over his eye. He laced his fingers into Ed's and pulled them down, slow and easy, tasting the tang of steel as he kissed Edward from the bearings of his wrist to the hinge of his elbow.

     Roy knew his naked face wasn't a pretty sight. It was better this way, without Ed seeing.

     The blond's breath turned sharp as a shudder quaked through carbon muscles. Then Ed's whole body shook, automail fist clenching as he moaned. "How the fuck are you doing that?!" he gasped. "Those nerves aren't even... Ah! _Fuck!_ They're wired to gauge pressure and damage! That's all!"

     "The brain's a funny thing, Fullmetal." He leaned in, just a breath away from his lover's lips. Arms drifted around his back, under his shirt. "If I said I want to roll you face-first into my bed and squeeze your ass tight," he whispered as Ed dug into his skin, "then push my fingers up inside you while I run my tongue down your spine..." Trails of scratches bit into his back. Edward shuddered and gasped. "What did you just feel?"

     "_Fucking psychology!_"

     Ed tried to steal his grin with another raw kiss. Tried.

     His hands drifted down tight ridges of leather stretched against skin and muscle, loosening inch by inch as Edward pushed his pants free. "But the real thing has got to be... better... right?" Both their chests heaving, a warm flush staining Ed's cheek, and his metal grip anything but delicate, Ed slid Roy's hand over his waist, past the angle of his hip.

     Roy knew the way from there. Ed's body answered his touch from lips to toes, arching to give Roy's hand more space, enough to tease the skin hiding between his thighs.

     A moan choked into a hiss. The blond recoiled, not retreating but tensing every muscle.

     "Too fast?" Roy asked, hand safe on Ed's waist.

     His eyes stayed screwed shut, but his face relaxed around them. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know! Dating you always seemed stupid, but I've wanted to have _sex_ with you since I was fourteen!" Eyes opening, Ed stared past Roy's shoulder, a frustrated tremble in his jaw. "Now that I _am_ dating you, I can't do it. I don't know what's wrong."

     He wanted to kiss his lover on the cheek, tell Edward not to rush -- he'd wait and it wouldn't be a problem -- but he could imagine how well that'd go. Ed never hated anything more than feeling inadequate. So Roy worked his fingers into Ed's hands, blocking them from clenching. "There's nothing wrong," he offered in a light tone. "What do you think we're doing?"

     A huff passed his snarling lips. The flare of his nose said he was actually listening. "_Talking_," Edward answered at last. "... And before that, we were kissing."

     "We're having sex. Unless you're not enjoying yourself?" Roy flicked blond bangs out of eyes that narrowed to knife points. "Then there's nothing to worry about."

     Stretching out on the couch, Roy tucked his arms back as a pillow. "Now. I think I need to hear about how you've been pining for me since you were fourteen. Go on, I'm listening."

     Edward flopped onto Roy's chest, almost at ease. "One: you're an asshole. Two: 'Pining for you' isn't the same as 'lusting after you'. I never _pined_ until--"

     Golden eyes drew away, just like they had on that car ride when they'd said goodbye. Before Fullmetal had first disappeared, and Roy had found himself in the hospital, scratching out a note he'd never expected to deliver. Before two years of carrying that note without knowing why, except that he could never accept that Edward might stay lost forever. Before shoving it into Ed's pocket on a chance that wouldn't come twice and hoping for three years more that it'd bring his prodigal Elric back for good. Now, here they were. And soon enough, the familiar glare was back.

     "_I never pined_. And three: that was the most embarrassing day of my life. I'd come in on the red-eye after Winry fixed my arm, and had to wait outside the office because you hadn't gotten there to unlock it, and when you _did_ get there, you were wearing that fucking aftershave, and left me holding your jacket while you changed a fucking light bulb. And _it_ smelled like your aftershave, and the second you rolled up your sleeves, all I could think about was you bending me over the desk and dropping my pants. It was a goddamn cliche, and _don't make that face_. You didn't want to have sex with _me_ when I was fourteen. You're not a pervert. Or subtle."

     "I ... remember that day." He'd thought Ed had seemed distracted, and had blamed it on the overnight train. Context was... odd.

     "Can we stop talking about it now?"

     "Yes, I think we can."

     "Good." Ed thrummed his fingers in time to Roy's heartbeat, steel hard and smooth, but warm with their bodies' heat. "Because, I guess... You don't get anything without a price. I know you don't. So things go right, and I wonder... where's the catch?"

     Looking at the tanned body lying by his side, golden head moving to Roy's shoulder, words came slow. He'd stopped believing long ago that men got what they deserved. Believing that, he'd have to wonder how he could deserve this. Roy breathed in the scent of Ed's hair and let out a half-chuckled sigh. "I think the catch is, you're stuck with me."

     Ed's glance darted around his face. "Can you take your eyepatch off?"

     The thought of his lover seeing the ruin that the mirror showed him every morning, seeing what was left of his face... Roy tried not to show how it withered him. But the blond sat up, unworried as he pulled off his undershirt.

     Exposing the scar down his shoulder, and where his ribs had been cut to mount his automail arm. The arm Edward covered up with long sleeves and gloves, even though it was a prettier piece of work than the limbs some people reveled in.

     Even though he was beautiful.

     Roy forced a breath as he undid the knot, and looked over at Edward to see if the awfulness showed in his eyes or if he flinched away. Far from it, Ed raked out the cowlicks the strap had left in its wake. "Now I can get my hands in _your_ hair."

     Fingernails against his scalp sent shivers down his spine as he pulled Edward close and they melted into another kiss. "That's definitely better," Roy answered.

     "I'm all right now. So... do you want me to take off my pants?"

     Almost laughing out loud, Roy shook his head into his lover's shoulder. "I think I want to kiss you for a little while first."

~//~

     Kissing, groping, making out -- whatever you wanted to call it, it didn't make logical sense, but Ed couldn't care when Roy's body was between his legs, pressing him into the mattress, heavy and hot and fucking _hard_ and ignoring everything Ed had thought he knew about sex from having to live with a cock.

     Get up, get off, get on with your life. Not with Roy.

     Roy Mustang's teeth on his neck while they rolled together, unsatisfied need simmering through his skin, all of it set off shivers in nerves he didn't know he'd had. He felt like down was up, just hearing the hitch in Roy's throat when Ed's hands strayed somewhere good and he went back for a second pass. This beat the hell out of masturbation.

     But it wasn't gonna last. He wasn't gonna last. Every time the fabric in his shorts shifted over his stiff prick, now, he felt like he might blow, and he wasn't gonna last. "Roy... I can't... I'm..." His hips bucked against Roy's side, and he choked on the end of his sentence.

     "Are you going to come for me, Ed?" that jackass bastard murmured in his hot-voice.

     He was gonna make a fucking mess all over Roy's sheets, was what he was gonna do, and he wasn't even out of his pants yet. Even as he balked at the thought of losing it with someone right there, he heard himself groan, "I've got to..."

     But Roy's mouth was already moving down his chest. And he didn't have to worry about his pants, either. Not with Roy tugging them down and bending to kiss the joint of his hip. Ed gasped, a twitch shaking his cock, now free and erect and aching for more.

     He remembered this chapter.

     But the sketches in the book he'd found had nothing on seeing Roy swallow him down, on feeling Roy's tongue.

     "_Fuck_..." he panted, then his throat went too tight to speak. Shock buried him, instant shock as strong as...

     As...

     This wasn't pain, but the not-pain hit as hard as the nerve-shock he knew more than ten years too well, burning out from his shoulder and his leg. He had to look away, to close his eyes as he grabbed folds of sheets tights in his fists. All of it screamed in his nerves -- tried to beat down the wall in his mind where he could hide and he didn't have to feel a thing...

     The pounding in his blood stopped. Was that-- Had he...?

     No. As the fog cleared in his brain, he could feel his cock was stiff and aching still. And now his arms and legs, too, and his hands wouldn't unlock from the sheets. He could almost force a breath into his chest, feeling a warm hand resting on his stomach--

     "Two thousand one hundred forty-seven million, four hundred eighty-three thousand six hundred forty-seven," Roy said, not moving an inch, but his touch told Ed's brain what was skin and what was bed, and brought his mind back into his body.

     His breath freed his voice. "What the hell...?" he croaked, digits floating into his head. 2,147,483,647?

     "It's a suggestion. You like to factor numbers, don't you? That's a good one."

     "When I want to get down because it's the wrong damn time to be turned on!" Ed growled. He could almost move, he was sure, but his arms didn't get the message to push the rest of him up, and he couldn't look Roy in the eye. Instead, he stared straight at the worn corner of the desk at the edge of the bed, counting the scratches he could see in the moonlight. "Right now's kinda the oppo--"

     His brain clicked.

     2,147,483,647?

     He was on his knees in half a heartbeat and knocked his jackass boyfriend flat on his back. "That's a fucking prime number, you shitbag! _It doesn't even factor_!" Which Roy must have done on purpose. Ed knew it as sure as he could hear that soft chuckle from the foot of the bed. He'd have known no matter what.

     Leaning over Roy's body, Ed could see he wasn't sorry, either. The bastard was making that stupid smirking face that he had to think Ed couldn't read. The one that said 'Thank you for being okay' under the asshole front, and that he couldn't stay mad at.

     Even though it was weird to be glad the Colonel could always yank his chain.

     "My mistake, Fullmetal."

     "Bullshit. This time, I'm sucking _you_ off." He drew back, pressing Roy's thigh open while the bastard grinned. "You can't talk me out of it."

     "You think I'd try?" Roy brushed back the hair that fell over Ed's shoulder as he sat closer. "I've been wondering how your mouth would feel all night," his lover murmured, velvet creeping into his voice.

     Ed stared at the man whose bed he'd crawled into. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."

     Roy's laughter fell into a groan as Ed took the tip of the man's cock into his mouth -- and couldn't remember anything the book had said to do. But his own erection, pulsing into the sheets, remembered how Roy had taken him up to the edge. Licking slick skin, he felt the solid heat under his lips, and it seemed to be working. Roy sounded like he was...

     His whole body shivered, hearing Roy's voice drip sex when he gasped. The sound went into his bloodstream, and for a second Ed thought he might come just from hearing it, he was already so close. But he fought it back. He wanted to hear Roy get off, to feel him shake and taste his skin, and nothing else.

     With a grunt as he gripped Ed's hair, Roy's semen splattered all over his cheek, and then all Ed could hear was panting. His own, and his lover's. He looked up, eyes trailing along Roy's spent body, and crawled into the man's lap. Roy was warm. Where his hands pushed their own warmth into the radiating heat from Ed's skin, he felt the burning more than the touch, and when his lover reached away to grab a towel, the air was a stiff as a coiled spring.

     The touch of cloth on his cheek didn't distract him from taking more kisses. He could still feel the shadow of Roy's cock in his mouth, next to the present touch of his tongue and his breath. What he felt everywhere else didn't even feel like feeling. The bed could've been air. The darkness could've been the edge of the world. The seconds where he heard Roy opening a bottle could've been a lifetime, waiting without a past or future for what was right at hand.

     First he felt something so good it was merciless, then he knew it was Roy's hand, slick and moving slow over his erection while he held on. His legs tried to clench together, but Roy's hips were between them. And Roy's other hand pushed against his chest, reminding him to breathe while he balanced on the edge but couldn't quite break through.

     "Better this time?" the bastard whispered in his ear, among other things Ed couldn't catch hold of.

     He tried to say... something. Whatever he'd meant, the word that went to his throat was Roy's name, and the sound that came out lost the word before it started. His body rode into Roy's touch. His mind shot through with the realization that this was happening -- he was fucking Roy Mustang -- as if he hadn't been at it the whole time, as if it'd been a surprise by now that he would... But there was his whole cognition, thinking, '_This is it_.'

     And he didn't have the brain to hold on to how stupid his mind was right now.

     Like a glass wall shattering, a jolt ripped through him and left him limp on Roy's shoulder, breath coming out in moans as fast as he count pant it in. "You... _verb_... socks..." he managed before he realized his brain was short-circuiting and he had to stop trying to talk. His limbs gave out when he tried to move, dropping him on Roy's pillow. Closing his eyes, Ed dug his fist into the mattress to orient his sense to the world again. "_Ice cream_."

     The bastard fit himself next to Ed's body. Smiling. Even with his eyes closed, Ed could hear him smiling that asshole smile. "I haven't got any in the freezer, but there's a place--"

     Ed had enough of his faculties back to kiss Roy till he shut up.

     "Or you could fuck me," he growled.

     The way they rolled, Ed couldn't tell where he stopped and Roy started. He couldn't tell if Roy whispered, "I can manage that," first, or if the next thing that happened was the Colonel's fingers slick with lube teasing him open.

     "Tell me when you're ready for more."

     "I can take it whenever!"

     He shuddered at the pressure of a third finger slipping inside. Roy's breath hit the back of his neck in a whisper. "This isn't about how much you can take. It's about what you want."

     Roy's leg curled between his own, nudging Ed's knees apart. Against the sheets, Ed felt his chest heaving as he pushed back on Roy's hand. He didn't know how his body could know he wanted that, but he did. All the theoretical ifs, hows, and whys clicked into something embarrassingly simple in his brain.

     "Do it," he groaned.

     "With pleasure."

     His muscles pulled tight around Roy's cock sliding in, his mouth panting open as his eyelids fluttered closed. Roy's hand took his where he grabbed the sheets in a fist under the pillow and laced their fingers together. He relaxed into the rhythm, the draw and push of Roy taking him. Slow at first, but whatever the words he was moaning meant, they got Roy to move harder and faster, till the wooden joints on the bed tried to cry out for mercy.

     He'd heard some people say the whole universe might have been packed into a solid, roiling point aeons ago -- everything and nothing, dark and hot with no room for light and no mind to see it -- and when it thundered out, it left all the planets and stars and everything that was real to wink into existence in its wake. A rush and a stillness all at once while the universe woke up. Edward thought he might have understood how that worked now, not just been able to see it in his head and think it could be a neat theory. His skin shivered despite the heat in this corner of reality that was all theirs, but he couldn't even shake. He lay skin to sweat-sheened skin on the mattress with the last corner of the blanket slipping down into the heap on the floor in front of his eyes. His brain couldn't take in much more than that: the slide of a blanket like a glacier in slow motion, Roy's hand holding his thigh from behind, Roy's lips on the back of his neck, Roy's fingers laced into his under the pillow, Roy's breathing, pushing in and out against the bottom of his spine. Roy. All he could do was lay there and feel it. Slowly, a clock ticked off pre-dawn minutes, and the fuzzy outlines of bookshelves and shuttered windows resolved before his eyes.

     Roy's cock slid out, sending one last groan rolling from his throat. His heart was still hammering. The air was cool where it hit his sweat, but Roy folded their bodies together while Ed tried to remember how to move. Had they been lying here for seconds? Minutes?

     He flexed a knee. It fell off the bed, enough for him to lever his weight forward.

     The arm around his waist tightened and held him in place against Roy's chest.

     "I have to clean up, Roy," he growled. "_I will rust_."

     The breath behind him barely made a sound, but he knew the feeling of a spent laugh. "If you must, you must." Roy landed a swat on his rear to get him moving. "Off you go."

     "How did my life get to where Roy Mustang is smacking my ass?"

     "I like to avoid the big questions." As he tested his legs on the ground, stumbling forward, Roy stretched out and watched him walk away. "Practicalities are more my forte."

     And there was nothing to throw, except his oilcan on the bureau. He wasn't going to throw that. Ed shook his head and turned into the bathroom, dropping the oil on the edge of the sink as he turned the knobs to set the shower running. And damn... he might stay in Central forever if he couldn't get indoor showers to Resembool. The water warmed up and flowed over his shoulders and hair, but it couldn't touch the feeling still thumping through his veins.

     Ed flipped the catch on his elbow to fan out the automail plates and let the water rinse off any hint of salt or what-have-you from the carbon workings inside, then the switch outside his knee, and watched the streams inside run clean. As soon as it slowed to a drip, he stepped out onto the mat on the floor.

     "Leave the water running, would you?"

     It was going to take time before he got over seeing Roy naked, so pale that the old burn patching his stomach was frost-white. Probably the only reason the wrack of scars around his empty eye turned red and pink was that he never took off that stupid patch. And Ed was never going to look at those awful uniform pants again without seeing the trim ass underneath. He shook his head to hide his grin. "All yours, Colonel."

     "I'm going to ignore that."

     Tomorrow, maybe he'd submit a new definition for 'surreal' to the dictionary. It was going to mean, 'Oil-flushing post-coital shower water out of your automail while sitting on Roy Mustang's toilet, watching the would-be Fuhrer scrub his back and sing a song about buzzing flies'.

     Definitely surreal. But not so bad. And by the time he'd finished his maintenance routine and clicked the shell on his arm and leg back into place, Roy was out of the shower, toweling his hair dry, and watching him with that idiotic smile on his face.

     "What?" Ed asked, spraying the oil onto his wrist and working it around the bearings.

     "Nothing."

     "Can I borrow something to wear? I'm not even sure where my shorts ended up."

     A second later, a pair of navy blue silk boxers came flying at his head. They didn't quite fit his waist, but they hung off his hips with no problem. Roy, apparently, was one of those people who didn't bother dressing for bed. Why was he not surprised? The man was just a pale streak on the bed, leaning over to grab the fallen blanket from the floor.

     Ed shivered, this time with cold from the winter night. In the dim light of the moon peeking through the shutters, Roy stripped the top sheet. Balled it up, and threw it in the hamper, and slid straight under the blanket. Any thought Ed might have had about standing there and watching vanished in the rush to get himself under that blanket, too, where it was warm, and the twin bed was just big enough to fit them both.

     "How long before trouble starts tomorrow?" he asked, pulling his hair away from Roy's fingers. He could handle laying together, but he'd never settle if Roy kept playing with his hair.

     "Too soon," his boyfriend answered.

     "So, up by six if we want breakfast."

     Laughing, Roy rolled Ed's back up against his chest. "So you'd better get some sleep," he said, and kissed him one last, lingering time on the back of the neck.

     Ed pulled the arm around his waist tighter. He counted seventeen slow breaths behind him before everything faded to a few black, dreamless hours.

~//~

_[The Next Week]_

     Generals filed into the Council chamber, more friendly types chatting quietly before they took their seats and the hard-noses flipping through paperwork without meeting anyone's eye. Bloch glanced around the room, never staring, as he wondered if one of them really was so deep in this Drachma mess that he or she'd sink to pinning Mustang as a scapegoat.

     Oh, Mustang hadn't said it. He'd answered perfectly every question Bloch could ask, and volunteered nothing on the questions that weren't safe to ask. But the lines were there to read between, and Bloch had just about had enough of the sneaky bullcrap that went on in this place. He was happy the Head of Security didn't want to drop him neck-high in the middle of all his personal scheming, but if Mustang was worth his salt, he'd best be ready for someone to come in the front door.

     "Long day, Bricks?"

     General Avro Lancaster settled into the chair to Bloch's right, looking every inch as born to the chair as Northrop or Defiant or any of the generals who came from generations of military. Most people wouldn't guess he was born in the same dead-end West City streets Bloch had come from. If only the gang back in Redbrook could see them now.

     "Day's just started," Bloch sighed. "But it will be."

     His friend's mouth pinched tight. "Something I should know about?"

     "I hope not, Av. Hell, I hope nothing happens at all."

     "Wouldn't that be nice."

     He was going to assume the clean-nosed blond had nothing to do with any of it. This was no time to ask uncomfortable questions, and Bloch preferred to have someone he could trust. The day Av couldn't fill those shoes was the day he kissed this government goodbye -- as soon as he found a way to take his alchemists with him. Besides, Av had come down on Mustang's side when the Council had voted to give Mustang back his commission. He liked the bastard. Bloch would have bet money on it.

     No time to consider asking if he'd still come down on Mustang's side. Marshal Wright had taken his seat at the front table and turned his smoked-in frown on the room while the bells up in the main tower struck eleven. Lucy's father never wasted time.

     "Everyone seems to be present," the Marshal called out. "Motion to begin?"

     "So moved," Levochkin answered.

     "Seconded," Fieseler echoed from the other side of the chamber.

     Nodding, the Marshal pulled a sheet of paper to the top of his stack. "The Secretary will note in the minutes that a motion to begin was made and seconded. I hereby declare this meeting of the Council of Generals to be in session. Is there any new business before we proceed with today's agenda?"

     "Yes, sir," Bloch said, all eyes landing on him as he broke their regular routine. He looked straight at his father-in-law, ignoring the rest of them. "I place before the Council the matter of Brigadier General Roy Mustang."

     The air changed, everyone's silence turning sharp as they sat up in their seats.

     The Marshal's face cracked into the disbelief that was as close as he ever got to a smile. "Brigadier General Mustang is a very broad topic, Lt. General," he said, drawing a few laughs from the assembled brass. "Would you care to narrow that down a little?"

     "Yes, sir. If any other citizen of Amestris, let alone a ranking officer of the military, had set as many tongues wagging about this _alleged_ treason as I've heard in the past month, the Council would have taken action to be sure there's nothing to it. Since it's Mustang, I expected a vote to turn his office upside down three weeks ago." Every face at the main table was as unreadable as iron, except for Hakuro, who always looked like he had bad gas whenever the Brigadier's name came up. "I can't see a reason why that hasn't happened, unless everyone who wants him clear is too scared they'll find something, and everyone who wants him locked up is too scared they _won't_."

     Maybe an exaggeration. But it was true they'd investigated other men for less. And if none of Mustang's enemies had called the question, one of them had to be telling the others to wait for damning evidence to surface. That the Flame Alchemist was no target you wanted to shoot for and miss.

     Probably the same someone who'd decided to manufacture the evidence he or she couldn't find, assuming that was really the story here. Bloch wasn't ready to say one way or the other. All he wanted was everyone pissed off enough to vote 'yes'.

     Marshal Levochkin leaned forward to ask the question he knew would be coming. "Lt. General Bloch. I'd like to know which of those options _you're_ not scared of."

     "Sir." Turning to acknowledge the Marshal, he grit his teeth and dove in headfirst. "Call me old fashioned, but I like to think the commander of our Internal Security Office isn't an agent of any foreign powers. That said, if there's evidence to the contrary, I'll gladly undersign his execution order for high treason."

     It'd be in Mustang's best interests not to disappoint him.

     Marshal Wright crossed his arms over his chest. "Then by all means, Lt. General. Let's consider the matter of Brigadier General Mustang. What's your proposal?"

     "I move that we impound all materials from the Internal Security Office and secure them away from concerned parties until we can complete a thorough investigation of their contents. Transcripts of all official correspondence dating to one year prior to the Drachman invasion will be retrieved and analyzed. Official and undercover investigators working with the Drachman prisoners at Briggs will specifically inquire about the Brigadier's possible collusion with Drachman command. Finally, the Brigadier's personal residence and all places he frequents will be searched, and he along with his entire command staff will be interviewed by a qualified investigator."

     He'd already told Alphonse this morning that he might want to plan on being around for the next while. If this went forward, no one who'd worked with Mustang would be left out.

     Bloch nodded at Lando Defiant, sitting at the opposite table with the blood draining out of his face. "I recognize the resources this proposal will require of the Justice Office, and I am prepared to give Major General Defiant whatever support he needs. Per my earlier statement, I will take _full responsibility_ for the investigation into Brigadier General Roy Mustang's actions. I only hope, when this circus is over, the question of whether or not this country can rely on it's own commander of Internal Security is settled both within this council room and outside of it. That's my proposal."

     Now he looked around, and in the silence he could see every council member tallying the potential risk of crossing Mustang against the potential gains.

     Avro's voice broke the silence. "I'll second the Lt. General's proposal."

     Bloch looked right, and saw a paper under his friend's hand with a note scribbled on it:

     _That's what you call 'Nothing', Bricks?_

     He nodded. Couldn't ask for more 'Nothing' than he hoped to find in Roy Mustang's files.

     At the head table, Marshal Wright cleared his throat. "The proposal to investigate Brigadier General Roy Mustang in the matter of collusion with foreign powers has been made and seconded. I will now open the floor to debate." The white-haired General sitting next to Levochkin took to his feet. "... The Council recognizes General Hakuro."

     "You want to shut down an entire division under my command? Lock away every man, woman, piece of paperwork, and whatever else that our _Security Office_ needs to do its job?! How is my section supposed to operate, deprived of all those resources?"

     Fuhrer Halifax cleared his throat and didn't wait for anybody to recognize him. "General. Seeing as the Lt. General has managed not to accuse anyone of actually committing treason, even if this investigation goes forward, I see no reason to force you to suspend your officers as long as they're monitored properly and kept away from any potential evidence. As for the paperwork, I expect your subordinates to identify high priority materials so that our investigation unit can vet them first and return copies of those materials to the Security Office while retaining the originals for the duration of the investigation. Will that be a problem?"

     Sitting back down, Hakuro said, "No problem, sir," in a much more reasonable tone. "I yield the floor."

     "Does anyone else have a point they wish to discuss?" Marshal Wright asked, glancing around the room. When no one answered, he continued, "Hearing none, Lt. General Bloch's motion will be put to a vote. All in favor of the proposal to investigate Brigadier General Roy Mustang on the matter of collusion with foreign powers, please signify by saying, 'Aye'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) The title "The Innumerable Troubles" is excerpted from the title of Chapter 17 of Don Quixote, published in 1605. The translation I was using here renders that title as: "IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE". The next chapter is entitled "The Substance of Things Hoped For", and I am still awarding virtual cookies for anyone who can identify the source work. As I am not a fast updater and this story ends on a cliffhanger, I will also add: **only catastrophic and/or debilitating circumstances will prevent me from posting Chapter 8 next week, as Chapter 8 is written, edited, and only awaiting A) my lovely betas' nods of approval and B) enough time to format for the web.** ::knock on wood::
> 
> 2) I don't believe you've met the OC Sgt. Major Junkers before, nor General Emily Northrop. They are named for:
> 
> The "Junkers Ju" line of fighters used in Germany between the late 1930s and early 1940s  
> The manufacturer responsible for the Northrop A-17 and N-3PB
> 
> 3) If you saw Roy use the phrase "thousand million" and were confused, I will quote my footnote from Chapter 1. He's using something called long-scale notation, since it was common in the Weimar Republic, which seemed to be a cognate for Amestris here. "In this method of naming numbers, the terms "billion", "trillion", etc. represent degrees of one million rather than degrees of one thousand (this is the short-scale -- more common in America, which is where I learned to count)."
> 
> 4) I doubted that Roy would just have enormous prime numbers memorized, but thought he might know special primes. Thus, the number he gives Ed is a _very_ special kind of prime: [a Double Mersenne number](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Double_Mersenne_number).


	8. The Substance of Things Hoped For

     It was hard to believe only half a year had passed, more or less, since Ed had dropped back into this world, into his office, and into all their lives. That tall tale about rabbits to explain how he'd returned from Earth, and his demonstration of the '_Quantum Dimensional Oscillator_' that went with the truth, seemed like a lifetime ago. Roy relieved Ed's nightstand of the small, clear globe, picking it up by its brass base and blowing through the influx tube to make the magnetic spheres spin -- to no effect, since his body was 'aligned' with this world in some way Roy was still trying to understand. And thanks to that lack of effect, investigators had left it when they'd seized all of his and Edward's 'potentially suspicious' materials for investigation.

     There was a pleasant irony in seeing officers confiscate thirty-five crates of irrelevant books from the Elrics' house, plus other sundries, while they dismissed as a toy the only thing in the entire world that could explain how Ed had actually come home.

     Roy found his humor where he could. He couldn't have kept his sanity through a month and counting of the Justice Office scrutinizing their lives any other way.

     Although stolen Saturday mornings -- even in their stark, stripped rooms -- helped, too.

     The March wind cut through Fullmetal's open window, not quite cold enough for Edward to find a shirt while pinning laundry to the rope and pulley contraption over his back yard. Anyone else might have used a simple clothesline, Roy thought as he put down Ed's glass and magnet contraption and unpacked the first batch of books that Major General Defiant's officers had returned. _Edward Elric's_ clothesline had an extendable roof and heat arrays prompted by winter chill, and he refused to change his laundry routine for anything so banal as weather.

     Ed pinned up the last of his socks, kicking his stepstool up against a bare bookshelf. Despite their troubles, when Ed strolled in front of a sex-rumpled bed, shower-damp golden hair falling over naked shoulders and trousers lazily unzipped, Roy couldn't watch without a mindless smile taking him by force. The blond noticed him staring, of course. Pinning him hip to hip against the desk, Ed scowled at Roy's grin. His rude, young lover stopped time to kiss him -- yielding and unforgiving all at once -- then pulled a book from the crate, studying the spine and pages for any damage before he shelved it.

     "Your plan sucks, Roy."

     "Having our books impounded and our homes searched wasn't 'my plan'," he said, forcing lightness into his tone. "It was inevitable as soon as those rumors started."

     He refrained from telling Edward to write his next essay on fair rules for search and seizure. Any chance they had of those essays staying in print depended on Ed staying objective and keeping his topics focused on Kyrus. If they crossed into present politics, Ed would get blacklisted, and they'd see worse scrutiny than this. At least the search teams hadn't found the caches where they'd stored their new research. That was safe, and for everything that had been confiscated, Lt. General Bloch had put his own alchemical locks on the evidence storage rooms. If anyone tampered with anything, the General would know, and such tampering would be subject to its own investigation.

     "You expect me to believe that none of what you did was planned so Lt. General Bloch would call out the Council."

     "That was entirely the Lieutenant General's initiative, Fullmetal." Roy smirked over an unsorted pile of books where the large cat, Boots, had made himself a bed. "But I'll take full credit for negotiating circumstances to our advantage. You're aware, I hope, that we're better off with an ally doing this, not our enemies."

     "Yeah, yeah. But if they 'forget' to return _even one_ of my books, I swear I'll tear headquarters apart to get it back. See how they like it."

     That said, there hadn't been a break-in or a tail in almost a week. They'd won this round, by every measure that'd count in the end, and the depositions of the more cooperative Drachman soldiers might identify the actual mastermind. Roy didn't say anything out loud, for fear of calamity if he spoke too soon, but he was starting to think the worst had passed.

     Sometime while they'd been at the desk, the other two cats, Hijinx and Ella, had invaded the crate on the floor, both using the last remaining books as a pillow for their morning naps. "Out you go," Roy whispered, setting the golden cat on the floor -- where he promptly found a pile of dry laundry to lay on. The white cat had, in the meantime, shifted to a corner of the crate to give himself a bath and had left the books uncovered.

     The bottommost bore an unmistakable drawing of a rabbit in a waistcoat.

     "Edward. They snuck something in from another investigation."

     "Huh?" As soon as Edward saw his copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, he stole it back with a grin. "About damn time!"

     With a clap, he transmuted a few floorboards into a trap door and opened it, then clapped again to pull away part of a beam under the floor and reveal a tight-packed collection of their books and papers. Ed fished out the handful of sheets Roy had made him remove from his novel and slotted them back where they belonged. Pages, beams, and planks all went back into place without a seam to say they'd ever been sundered. Ed smiled like he'd never been upset.

     How they started kissing, him pushing Ed onto a bare patch of the desk, Roy couldn't explain. He reserved his explicative faculties for more dire issues than Saturday mornings.

     "Oi!" Edward hissed against his ear. "Maybe after we put these books away?"

     "Hmm. Maybe."

     Edward's body opened and melted against him while their tongues pushed together. Gasps caught in his lover's throat, hardly objecting. "Or maybe we could be _alone_?"

     Far too soon, a key turned in the front door. The cats raced toward the sound, but they were -- if anything -- less alone than before. Roy stepped away while Edward wiped the shine off his mouth and took a shirt from his clean laundry. He almost had it buttoned when Alphonse-kun rushed through the bedroom door.

     "Nii-san! You..." The younger Elric blinked, more startled than he'd been when he'd called Ed for breakfast and found Roy at the table, where he'd fallen asleep in their studies. "Brigadier General... sir. You're... still here. Um. But I guess Marshal Wright needs you both," he said, and launched into a stream of words without seeming to breathe. "He's at the fairgrounds setting up the obstacle course, and there may be dynamite so everyone thought it best for the two of you handle it so it doesn't explode. Don't you agree? Love to help. Late for the train to Briggs. Good luck!"

     "Al!" Edward yelled at the slamming door, but got only silence back. "What the _fuck_, Al?!" He turned to Roy, pointing a finger at the door. "Did you just see that? Did that just happen?"

     "I assume you mean the distinctive method your brother uses to send us on arranged set-ups so I can seduce you."

     "Yes! _That!_ I have been fucking seduced! What the hell--" Falling silent, Fullmetal stared dead at the door and pulled his gloves off the table. "Roy. Nobody knows we're dating."

     Roy shook his head. As much as he liked to trust Ed's intuitions, that one seemed out of the question. "My entire staff was in the room when I asked you to tell Miss Hawker."

     "Right. Because you never lie, and never hit on me just to piss me off."

     "Not _just_."

     "And not one of them said, 'I told you so'? Al should've done. Hell, Winry would've taken a train up to say it. Has Captain Hawkeye even said a word? I'm right. You know it."

     It was hard to argue. Hawkeye wouldn't usually spare him his idiocies. "And I suppose our schedules were too strained lately for them to play games. Now that we're not juggling spies from every direction... " Roy cast an eye at the clothesline outside the window. "But Alphonse-kun must have seen my shorts in your wash."

     "I had to buy all new clothes. Why would Al have memorized my underwear?"

     Shaking his head, Roy pulled on his jacket. "I need to have a short chat with my people."

     "No." Ed stuck out his arm, a tooth-filled grin spreading over his face. "Don't say _anything_. Like our own conspiracy. If I see one from the inside, maybe I'll actually get it."

     Roy slung his arm around Edward's waist. "Are you asking permission to run a psychological experiment on my staff? _You?_"

     "Behavioral. Not psychological."

     "Masterminding a conspiracy so you can see how to crack one open."

     "And somebody's got to answer for locking us in that ice cream truck."

     A fair point if he'd ever heard one.

~//~

     Hawkeye glanced at Lt. Breda, coming through the door with the box of copied paperwork he'd been tasked to retrieve from the Justice Office. Since entry and exit protocols were still in effect, he pulled a small green flag from the corner of the map of Central by the door and stuck it in a pinhole by Deinst Station, completing a ring of five flags around the city. That made everyone they needed for their afternoon conference.

     Roy was here, too, but the requisition forms on his desk needed his full attention, and Edward-kun was still at lunch. Today's best cover for sharing what their investigations had uncovered was probably the Cupid Project, then.

     She flipped open her notebook on the desk to let everyone know they were starting. Fuery looked up from sweeping corners emptied of filing cabinets, Falman closed the accordion files where he was sorting their temporary storage, Havoc stepped down from his ladder as he finished hanging a new pinboard on the wall, and Breda nodded as he set down his box. "Any change to report on the Brigadier and Edward-kun?" Hawkeye asked.

     Lt. Breda stared at Roy's closed door with a huff. "Well, I've got nothing. If how they fight is any way to judge, our progress is at the corner of Nowhere Lane and Zero Avenue."

     It was good to hear the 'progress' keyword in their reports at last. So he'd managed to track down one of the spies who'd been sent after Roy and tail him back to a safehouse. The corner of... 'Lane' put it on the eastern radial out of Central Command, and seven letters in 'Nowhere' meant the seventh cross street. Southwest corner of the intersection, zero blocks down. They'd want to confirm that a few more of their mastermind's hired help made base there before they rocked the boat too much, but it was a start.

     Although she wanted to add some reduction in Edward-kun and Roy's bickering to their progress. She'd had so much hope last month when Roy had started wearing aftershave even when he hadn't needed to shave -- the way he used to back when he went on dates every week. If only her commander would make some effort to be charming as well as aromatic.

     Alas.

     Capt. Havoc pulled a cigarette out of his pack on the table. "If you want progress, them fighting might be the wrong train track. The boss is just that type."

     'Train track'. Excellent. Hawkeye noted down that Havoc had found something in one of the dead drops they'd discovered their target using to get messages to hired spies. A 'typed' note, no more traceable that the others they'd found, but if that drop was still active, they had a chance to spot someone using it whom they could trace back to the military.

     "Those rumors that the Brig got tied down're still getting stronger, right?" Havoc asked, spinning his cigarette between his fingers before he drew it over his lip. "I say, hard to believe where there's smoke, there's no fire."

     So the message had been about the attempts to link Roy to Drachma, telling the operative to lie low. A hint about their mastermind's next move would've been better, but if no one else would ambush Roy, their lives would be much simpler. That was a step in the right direction, though not enough to be sure quite yet.

     "But they started getting worse right when he told Edward-kun to spin that line for the intern," Lt. Fuery answered. "We know that's a dead end."

     The 'lines' where a dead end, then? Too bad. Tracing the surveillance equipment they'd removed from their files before turning the filing cabinets over to Justice had seemed like a good lead. On top of which, they had to assume their mastermind now knew they'd been letting him or her listen in on their conversations.

     The 2nd Lieutenant wrung his hands around his broom. "Everything we've heard went from Miss Hawker to common knowledge that very day, even for people talking about it in town. Short of catching them in the act--"

     The hallway door shot open and bounced against the bumper cushion they'd nailed to the wall to keep the crash from damaging anything. Edward Elric stormed into the room in its wake, blond ponytail streaming behind him and whipping in time to the stomp of his boots. He barely stopped long enough to jab his yellow flag into the map before he aimed himself at Roy's door like they all knew he would. The particular scowl cooking on his face was a look only Brigadier General Mustang could cause.

     Hawkeye made a note in her agenda to shift the Brigadier's workload to things he could sign and review while having an argument that'd probably be audible on the other side of the building and would definitely involve projectiles, just in case this went on for a while.

     He swung open Roy's door and marched toward the desk. "_Damn it, Roy!_"

     "How was lunch, Fullmetal?"

     "Don't pretend you don't know! This is _your_ fault!"

     Lt. Breda slumped into his chair. "Catch 'em in the act, huh? Nobody here really thinks those two'd go out dancing or catch a show after work, right?"

     They all looked back at the office, where Roy was pacing around and laughing with a report in his hand while Edward-kun followed two steps behind, screaming and shaking his fists. "No! I _don't_ want to know what you think of what I said! I want to know why the hell officers from Legal are stopping me in the lunch line to ask me -- _me!_ \-- for ideas on a _collective bargaining agreement_ with the municipal engineering corps! Like I'm some shuttle-licking civil policy guru!"

     "Is it a problem that people respect your opinion, Edward?" the Brigadier General practically sang back, beaming into the packet of papers in his hands. "Without your help, it might have been years before the engineers won the right to form a union. Surely that's something you'd want."

     Lt. Falman sighed. "It's too bad Alphonse-kun couldn't keep doing his research from Central. He was the only one who could be there when the Brigadier goes to Edward-kun's house to study. That was at least one of their houses. Although... if we--"

     Hawkeye cut him off with a sharp shake of her head. She could see where this was going. "Eavesdropping on an alchemist's research is more than any of our hides are worth." No matter how frustrating it was that any time the two of them arranged a private evening, they were always talking about research. What should've been the best means to determine if they'd come to a romantic understanding was suddenly rendered meaningless by their _scientific_ passions.

     All the same, she knew enough to never cross that line. Alchemists developing new theories were like mother tigers with their young, with good reason. A real mission might justify the attempt, but it wasn't a risk worth taking for a minor cover operation like this. Definitely not when Roy Mustang and the Elric brothers were designing something together. Enemies from within and without Amestris would probably kill for details a non-alchemist might not realize were significant. The less they knew about this alchemical theory, the better.

     They'd find something else. They always did. She'd never declared an unverified objective "Good enough" in her life, and she wasn't about to start with Roy Mustang.

     A sound that was half-roar, half-scream erupted out of the inner office. "The problem?! The problem is that _I did know!_" Edward-kun thundered, "And they liked what they heard so much, they said they'd take my 'proposals' straight to General Defiant because _he thought they'd work out_! I never wanted an opinion on politics, Roy! I wanted to stay out of it! You did this to me! You, you shit-shot swindler, and your triple-dog-damned, '_Oh, Fullmetal, why don't you write this week's bullshit essay on how maintaining a unified community will affect relations with external forces?_' Do you think I can't tell you did that on purpose?!"

     Havoc, Breda, and Fuery all pulled piles of bills out of their jackets and handed them over to Falman. He must have been the one to bet on ten weeks before Edward-kun realized that his research papers had more than one ulterior motive. Roy was serious about bringing the other alchemist in on diplomatic policy, God help them all, and saw nothing wrong with tricking him into learning about it.

     "There was never an alchemical code to break in those books anywhere, was there?!" the blond raged as Roy smiled enough to bring out his dimples. "You fucker! This was your plan the whole time!"

     "Oh, but Ed... I thought you knew that 'alchemical code' business was only a ruse for you to tell anyone who asked you about your studies. Aren't you aware that there weren't any alchemists in Kyrus?"

     "_Who are you calling so easy to dupe, he might as well have butterscotch pudding cooking in his brain pan and walnuts in his eye sockets?!_"

     Hawkeye sighed. At least they would never risk anyone who was eavesdropping on their office overestimating their level of professionalism. That remained Roy's most effectively guarded secret. But they had more pressing matters to discuss. She cleared her throat, calling back everyone's attention.

     "If we want to make any progress at all, we need to take the hose off the spigot, as it were," she said, letting the room know she'd found a discrepancy in the officer housing budget. Maybe it would track back to the safehouse Breda had found, and maybe it wouldn't, but they'd need to follow it up anyway. "What can we arrange so those two can be... companionable, but wouldn't want to do any research?"

     The team passed blank looks around the room.

     Roy's voice erupted into the silence. "No, Fullmetal, you will _not_ ask any of the Generals at Bridge Night to throw out their copies of your essays. The last thing you want is make anyone think you're doing something you don't want seen."

     Raising his hand, Captain Havoc whispered, "I've got a question." He leaned over the table to hiss under his breath, "Am I the only one who saw those essays in the _bookstore_? Anybody know why the Brigadier started shopping pamphlets around?"

     She remembered too well Roy's grin when he'd gotten the letter from the university's journal requesting permission to do individual reprint runs. "I believe Brigadier General Mustang's exact words on that subject were, 'If people want to read them, who am I to say no?'"

     The room filled with the common groan of men who wished in vain that their commander would work only one angle at a time. By the end of the day, they'd probably have another betting pool running over when Edward-kun would find out about the pamphlets.

     The blond blew out into the main office again, Brigadier General Mustang following him as far as the door. The Flame Alchemist leaned against the wall, watching Edward-kun stomp to a halt. "And speaking of your work with Miss Hawker," he said. "Have you finished that treatise on local militia?"

     Edward-kun scowled without looking back. "It'll be done tomorrow."

     "Wonderful. How would you feel about addressing fair and sustainable taxation next?"

     "I feel like it's a fucking waste of my time!" The blond looked back over his shoulder at Brigadier General Mustang and let out a sigh that deflated his puffed-up frame to a more normal level of insubordination. "I'll do it, Roy, all right? _I'll do it_, but I do _not_ want General Northrop's goddamned Budgetary Council knocking on my door next month asking me about how they ought to set import duties from Creta! That's _their_ job."

     "Thank you, Edward. I promise your time won't be wasted."

     He looked like the rest of the room might as well have vanished, smile giving way to serenity. There was no doubt Roy was satisfied with the current state of affairs. He'd been happier fighting with Edward-kun these past few months than he'd managed in years -- and the slump after the blond had turned him down had cut his attention and efficiency by at least a quarter. Thank goodness he'd gotten over that quickly enough. If everything was going well, Roy could handle his own love life, but it was her job to be sure he wasn't planning to be an idiot.

     At least Edward-kun had been more patient with Roy's nonsense lately. He'd still throw things and tell Roy to keep his eyes on his work, of course, but with better humor. Roy wasn't the only one she'd caught staring, either. And beyond that, enough of these arguments had ended with the younger alchemist shaking his head and turning away to hide a smile that she'd stopped relying on Alphonse-kun's instincts to believe Roy's affection was mutual.

     As she brought the Brigadier back to reality so he could take a look at her notes, Edward-kun dropped the last of his ire and slumped into a chair. He seemed more interested in arranging the makeshift figurines in the replacement diorama stickball pitch Havoc had started building (his coffee-cup masterpiece having been confiscated by the Justice Office and unlikely to return in good condition). Roy glanced over the few lines and gave a nod, his mask of military authority already back in place.

     "Excellent work with the festival this weekend, everyone. I expect detailed update reports on your current operations on my desk within the hour. We'll reassess your priorities at three."

     Everyone except Edward-kun saluted as Brigadier General Mustang left. The alchemist stayed in his seat, back to the door, setting up the walnut-capped stickball players for a grand slam, only looking up when the officers went back to their cleaning and filing. Then he swung over to her desk to sort paperwork Lt. Breda had retrieved, stacking forms and reports into proper order with silent ferocity.

     He caught her narrowed eyes and answered with a half-winced grin.

     "I know, I know. I fell into politics at the deep end, and now I've gotta learn to swim. And I don't mind people finally listening to me around here, believe me. But _taxes_?! That's just being an asshole." Glancing at the laughter around the room, he asked, "Did I hear you all say something about Al? He didn't check in from Briggs yet, did he?"

     Havoc shook his head as he climbed his ladder. "No word, but his train's not due till late."

     "Damn. The jackass and I've got notes for a new array I want him to look at."

     All the officers in the room slumped about five inches as they sighed.

~//~

     The Briggs facility could feel deserted some days with just three of them, but Alphonse minded less with the granite-topped laboratory benches scattered around the building that were clearly his brother's work -- with gothic spires where the gas, air, and water lines curled like a mad pipe organ, and gilt-detailed rosettes around the edging. Alphonse had settled into one where the granite was a deep, speckled red and waited for tinctures to seep into vials of soil.

     They'd need to steep for another hour at least, so he pulled out the latest transmission from Nii-san. To anyone reading over his shoulder, it might look like his brother telling a story about getting lost in a train yard and running into a dog who knew the way out. What the teletyper had printed, though, hid instructions for an array Alphonse could barely believe. A double circle, cut per pall to start. The division into threes was rare, he thought, drawing the Y-shaped cut through two equidistant rings, but the figures Nii-san and the Brigadier had been working with were volatile. Maybe they wanted to create a tripod equivalence to add stability.

     Top of the inner circle divided again, this time cut gyronny. Sigils for Antimony, Gold, Silver, Copper, Iron, Tin, Quicksilver, and Lead, clockwise from the first division...

     His brother was _inventive_ to say the least. All the primary elemental metals alloyed at the focus of the circle? He'd say it was an attempt at an impenetrably solid base, except that Quicksilver was a liquid. Nii-san had been working with controlling fluid states, of course.

     He'd just put down two lines to cut the focus quarterly and was drawing cross lines to make gyronny eighths when Fletcher walked in the far door with Alphonse's heavy coat.

     "Al! Lieutenant Henschel is here from the Fortress. He says they found something on patrol, and he wants you and Russell to take a look."

     "Found something? For us?" After all this time with nothing in the mountains but the regular ice formations, they'd moved ahead with data from the towns and made quite a bit of headway. The mountains had been written off. If the Fortress had found something to look at now, it had to be important. He tucked Nii-san instructions and the partial array inside his jacket.

     "Those tinctures will be ready to check in an hour. If you don't mind?"

     Fletcher smiled and handed him his coat. "No problem. I'll be done with the grass samples by then."

     "Thanks!"

     Russell was already waiting with Lt. Henschel, snow goggles and gloves in place, boots cinched tight into their snow pants. Alphonse met the burly officer's salute and suited into his own gear as fast as he could.

     "Major Elric. I was just telling Major Tringham about the site. It's three hours quick hike from here," Henschel reported. "An ice wall we thought was a sheer cliff until yesterday, solid down to the rock. The last patrol found a hole melted through into a cave. Nothing natural did that, and no bear that drew the circle on the ground inside."

     Russell hefted one of the bags by the door. "I've got food and water. You grab the tools."

     With a nod, Alphonse settled his snow goggles and took the second pack.

     The force of trudging through the snow as fast as they could hike numbed their legs as much as the cold. This far into the mountains, the drifts never stopped stirring in a blinding cloud of whiteness. Visibility was too low to read a compass easily and the snowy landscape was an invitation to get lost. Major General Armstrong's men, however, could always guide them straight through the mountains and snow banks.

     This time, to the dark hole of an ice cave peeking out of the winds.

     "I'll watch the entrance. It's just what you see, no other exits," Henschel said.

     They each struck a torch and ducked into the tunnel. The smooth cuts like the edges of a diamond through three feet of ice were the work of an alchemist, no question. The powder snow that had blown in from outside wasn't deep. This floor had been clean not long ago. Three days at most, he'd estimate, since the alchemist who'd been here had left. The only prints Alphonse saw were Amestris military-issue boots, all carefully outside the scratched-out sigils on the floor. Whoever had been here before hadn't left a single print or scrap of litter.

     He and Russell likewise stayed to the edges, though the circle was carved in rock. The alchemist had done a fairly brutal job to destroy it, which didn't bode well for it being innocent. Russell growled at the disfigured shapes.

     "It's too much of a coincidence to have this show up here if it's not linked. This has got to be part of our problem. You saw that half-centimeter rise in the water table two days ago?"

     "That correlates to how long this place has been open," Alphonse answered. "But we've got to reconstruct this circle to be sure."

     "Well, I can't make anything out. Those curves at the crown and the base are like nothing I've ever seen, and the details are a total loss. Can get anything out of all that?"

     Alphonse studied the leftover lines and jagged cuts. The smooth ones were the array, he was sure, the disfiguring gouges sliced more roughly, with more variation. They obscured quite a bit, but there was something familiar about the layout of the curves. "I'd like a day or two to try. I'm not sure if I can reconstruct it, but if we can get the basics, it could save us weeks of trials."

     The elder Tringham straightened up. "Let's get started then."

     "We have to stop back at the laboratory first." Alphonse stared hard at the markings on the floor, thinking of how certain Brigadier General Mustang had been that this drought was tied to the trouble in Central. "Whoever did this, they did it on purpose, and they left in an awful hurry. If there's even a chance that we have a saboteur capable of causing this drought, and that person might be headed further into the country, I have to warn Nii-san."

     "I suppose you're right." Russell edged behind him and tromped toward the tunnel. "But tell your brother we've got this end. I don't need him and his flying monkeys to crack it telepathically from Central. We'll come back first thing tomorrow."

     "Nii-san has his hands full, I'm sure." Following his fellow alchemist, an image leapt into Alphonse's mind of where he'd seen a design like this before. "Russell!" he called out. "Do we have any books on Xingese systems in the library?"

     "What?!" The older alchemist whipped around, yelling over roaring winds. "You've got to be kidding! First Drachma, now Xing?! What is this, an anti-embassy?!"

     Alphonse turned over his shoulder at the dark cave hidden in the ice. "Let's see what we can find in the library before we say anything for sure."

~//~

     Tea fumes wafted from Roy's kitchen, making Ed realize he'd been staring at his notes without seeing them long enough for the sky to turn darkish outside. And his hair had blocked part of his view. Roy must've stolen his hair tie again. But the amoeba-like groups of generals he'd drawn had lost all meaning, anyway. He couldn't remember if he wanted to drag this edge down to include Major General Saulnier with the Militants like Hakuro or leave her in the Constructionist faction with Levochkin.

     The amoebas weren't working for him. If they were, he'd have known what his drawing meant. And he didn't.

     Edward scribbled over the page and flipped it to the clean side to start again. Maybe he'd try to diagram this using fluid structure notation. He needed to practice that. Politics were like a fluid, right? Close enough, anyway. The paper blurred into the table as he set his pencil point to the surface, and he stopped in the middle of a stick figure. Rubbing his eyes, he took a deep breath, held it for a count of ten, and exhaled all at once. He forced his hand to draw, linking patterns running through Central -- who cooperated with whom as a chain bond, neutrals with a slip bond, one faction in each corner.

     Well, if this was anything like liquid, the Generals' associations were hellaciously fragile. No surface tension for shit. "I bet Dipshit von Peskypest is more worried about their own faction than about us. If one of their own stepped out of line, the molecule'd vaporize 'em. They'd cut out and form new bonds before chain instability kicks in."

     Roy appeared out of nowhere with steaming cups. "Well, I'll grant that no one would cling to someone who'd mean their death politically. But what molecules are you talking about?"

     "Umm..." Ed bit his tongue, trying to figure out what words would explain the diagram he'd siphoned out of his brain. When that failed, he held up the page. "That. I mean that."

     Roy put down one mug next to his discarded eyepatch, where the steam drifted up to Ed's nose. "I've... never looked at political alliances like that. But... if it helps you visualize..." He cocked an eyebrow. "You put me alone. I assume that's me, with the circle of fire and the dashing pose?"

     "_Smug_ pose. And what? Your little puppet show is an equal power chunklet to the rest. What do you want?"

     Chunklet was word, right? Besides, it wasn't him who'd decided that Roy and his people were ... there was a word for this, too. Rampant? Something. Whatever. It was all the generals who'd formed up power blocks just to block Roy '_Can't Make Me Not Be Fuhrer_' Mustang, to keep him from taking whole pies when he went after slices, because they all _did_. Because Roy _would_.

     "Anyway. You know that. I'm the one playing catch-up." Edward grabbed his tea. Not half bad. "Any other generals without non-subordinate allies in that powder keg would get eaten alive is what I was trying to say. And you know that, too."

     "Thank you."

     "That's not a compliment! It's stupid, it's not safe, and if you got someone like Bloch all the way on your side for once--" He rubbed at his forehead. "I don't know. It's a half-baked diagram for an unfinished theory that doesn't even show how the person we want is hiding. And when I add everybody's team, you won't be alone."

     "No, I won't."

     Ed felt Roy settle in next to him.

     The Mastermind. Was hiding. Not just from from Roy, but from everybody. They couldn't make ripples in the pond, so they'd have to piggyback on existing patterns and seemingly innocent routines. Like how, _apparently_, nobody could tell he was fucking Roy because they couldn't distinguish between 'researchy research' and 'sexy research'. For some inexplicable reason.

     "So that's why you want us watching everybody, even when there's nothing to see. It stops being nothing if and only if they screw up, and we have to be there to catch it."

     Roy nodded with a somber sigh. "But they know we're watching now. That'll change how they proceed from here on out."

     "You can't measure without affecting the system. That's..." Edward sketched an arrow out from Roy in a wavy arc. "I have no idea how to draw that."

     "Ed..."

     He knew Roy wanted him to trust what everybody else already knew. But he couldn't help until he knew what to look for. Really knew, down in his bones, not just checking a list someone handed him.

     "Save this until tomorrow if you need a break."

     "I _am_ taking a break." He waved his hand over the pile of cloud theory he'd pushed aside. "That Rickbaum crap was making my head spin and my eyes go fuzzy, and you said to stop when that happens, so I stopped. I'm taking a break to go over this!"

     Stealing the diagram and the pencil from his hand, Roy replaced everything on the table with a blank piece of paper. Where he drew a bunch of vertical lines.

     "That's not a break. Right now, we're waiting for a threat that could come any day, and will come at any scent of weakness."

     Across the nine vertical lines, he drew nine horizontal lines to make an eight-by-eight grid. Ed didn't see why Roy had to do that himself. _He_ could've done _that_.

     "If you want my staff and myself to watch for that threat while you work on your research, you can. We'll keep you safe. If you mean to _help_, you need to keep your mind rested. You don't have the luxury of working yourself into the ground."

     It was hard to argue when, for once, Roy's weird-ass dictates meant he took it seriously when Ed said he wanted to be involved. If he could learn anything, and he could, then he could learn how to relax. Hell, re-learn. He'd used to know how, before he got stuck on a strange world with nothing there for him but the drive to get home. His mind drifted back to how Al had always called him to spar outside when he'd been about to collapse into his research. And Roy wasn't wrong. He'd come back stronger after that.

     Back in the present, Ed narrowed his eyes as Roy drew an X in the corner of his grid. "Are you telling me to play some freaky, mega Tic-Tac-Toe with you? Is that what this is?"

     "You can't play into any square touching a mark. Last person with a valid move wins."

     He hoped it wasn't a game that was easy to read and play to a draw like Tic-Tac-Toe. There was nothing fun about that. But, letting his feet tangle up with Roy's, he gave in. "Fine. Give me a pencil."

     "Just point. After fifteen minutes and some dinner, you can have the pencil and whatever work you want."

     Rolling his eyes, he jabbed his finger at the paper, and Roy drew a circle where it fell. Then Roy drew another X, and he pointed out another spot for a circle. Then he had to start counting squares to see what was off-limits.

     He saw three moves ahead when Roy had clinched the last spot, and flipped the sheet.

     "Best out of three."

     He hadn't expected something so simple to bring him this much focus.

     It was also possibly fun.

     But halfway through their second round, permutations jumped into his head for how to play different spots. Then the permutations became clouds and slipstreams behind the mindless X's and circles, shoving themselves into his brain until his mind froze again and he couldn't tell if a spot had three blocks free or just two.

     "Fullmetal?"

     "Shit."

     Turning his eyes away from the game board, he tried to banish all the symbols and links and spinning diagrams from his mind's eye. That's what he had to do, right? But the problems sat there, taunting him with how unsolved they were. He squinted at his boyfriend, saying something he'd never thought he'd say.

     "Do you know anything else to make me stop thinking? This isn't working."

     He should have been suspicious when Roy looked like he was thinking seriously. Nothing that happened on Roy's couch ever made him look serious. And while he wasn't being suspicious, Roy's arms shot around him.

     "Hey!" Before his heart could finish skipping a beat, he was down on the couch, laid out across Roy's knees. The vertigo left his blood pumping. And he had to admit, Roy's smirk had his full attention.

     "Really, Ed?" the bastard asked. "I need to _make_ you stop thinking? Because I do like a challenge."

     His breath came quicker as Roy traced his chin, then hooked a finger under his shirt. "You've got a dirty mind," Ed growled.

     "And it's entirely at your disposal."

     Roy pushed his legs onto the couch and laid a kiss on his knee. He could barely feel it through his pants, but it still made his heart knock his ribs. And his jackass boyfriend was pushing so close that his body seemed hot enough to burn.

     "I have a deck of cards, too."

     The next kiss hit his shoulder. He slid his legs around Roy, and just as promised his brain shut everything else out. Everything but that ginger smell and a hint of roughness from stubble that Roy'd have to shave tomorrow morning. After that, his face'd be smooth enough to be worth dragging right back to bed.

     He barely heard Roy offering, "Or I could pull out some dice." His lover pressed a kiss against his lips before pulling back an inch. "I may even have some jacks somewhere."

     Ed grabbed Roy's shirt tight in his fists. "This works."

     There was nothing wrong with kissing when they had to take a break anyway. Break time was, by definition, not work time. And Roy's tongue in his mouth drove all thought clean out. Arching his back, he let warm hands tease his skin, hitting that spot between his shoulder blades that sent a spasm through his nerves, making him shake and stretch. He bit under Roy's ear, where it always made him moan.

     If he wasn't careful, he'd leave a mark Roy's collar wouldn't cover. Now that'd be something that might tip off the peanut gallery.

     Want.

     Act.

     Tracks.

     Caught.

     Edward shot up and reached out for the diagram Roy had dropped on the floor. "That's what I forgot! You were using _me_ to pull the mystery general out of line." He pulled over a pencil to scratch, 'BAIT' next to his wavy line. "I must not've been outside of normal routine. Or they just didn't go for it..."

     "Clearly I need to be trying harder."

     "Or maybe you reset my brain enough for me to remember the obvious, and now you should get back to kissing me before I start thinking again."

     Roy worked his fingers into Ed's hair with his smirk back in place. "You make a compelling argument."

     And right then, the doorbell had to ring.

     Nobody rang at Roy Mustang's door who didn't have to. Neither of them even bothered wondering if they could ignore the sound and hope the visitor would go away. They wouldn't.

     Ed pulled his hand off his boyfriend's neck. "I'll want to cash that check later."

     "Consider it done."

     They rolled up from the couch, and Edward locked down their more secret papers while Roy headed off with his eyepatch to find a mirror.

~//~

     She stood there, heavy feeling in her gut as always. Gracia shifted the plate of leftover casserole on her arm and took her other hand off the doorbell to smooth out her daughter's hair. A few long seconds after she'd rung -- long enough for her to wonder if the light it the window had been left on by mistake -- the door opened.

     It wasn't Roy Mustang. She blinked, eye to eye with a blond who looked as startled as she was.

     "Gracia-san?" he asked.

     Oh, goodness, that voice! Even with a lower tone, she'd could never forget that sound, could she? And sure enough there was his steel hand at the end of his sleeve.

     "Edward-kun? I didn't recognize you with your hair down!"

     Riza had said that Edward was spending quite a bit of time here, doing some sort of research with Roy. She still wasn't used to how much he'd grown during the years he'd been gone. He'd only had a chance to stop by once or twice, what with all the excitement that never seemed to stop in their office. But he'd still made time to say hello when he'd first come back, and to bring over a toy pony he'd made himself for the birthday he shared with her little girl.

     The change from when he'd been a child was striking, in the way he carried himself and the new depth to his voice. Even more so with his golden hair falling loose, it was startling to see the man that the high-spirited boy she remembered had grown into. But it was definitely him.

     "Elicia, say hello to Edward-niisan."

     Her daughter clung to her thigh and waved a shy hand, and the alchemist returned her wave with a bright grin. "Hey, Elicia-chan."

     However unexpected, it was good to see the Edward again, and to see Roy Mustang taking time to be with anyone inside that cold, lonely house. Maes would have been happy to know he was opening up at last. "I hope the Brigadier General isn't working you too hard."

     "Nah, it's good."

     The man of the house stepped into view at the back of the room. He looked like he'd rather stay unnoticed, forcing every step out of his kitchen with his eyes locked on the floor and his mouth in an unreadable line. Even with his uniform jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, his back was stiff and his gait was like a funeral bell.

     He didn't fake a smile as he walked over to the door. Not with her. He might wish she'd never come around, but he'd have to stop looking at her like he blamed himself for what happened to Maes before she'd consider it. Her husband had made his own choices, and she loved him for it.

     "Mrs. Hughes." Somewhere in the uneasiness on his face, Roy did look a little happier now, as if he were softening around the edges at last. He had a muted hint of peace that she hadn't seen since all of them were in school. "To what do I owe the honor?"

     As if the plate in her hands didn't speak for itself. She held it out, although Roy Mustang looked like he was taking a brick slab from her, not a mess of noodles, ground beef, and sauce.

     "There was a potluck at Elicia's school for the end of term," she said. "We ended up with too much extra casserole. I wouldn't be able to keep it all. Why don't you gentlemen have it for dinner instead?"

     The officer hesitated, looking like he was about to give his usual excuse that he'd already eaten and he couldn't possibly. In that second, the blond puzzled up his eyes at Roy and took the plate before the man could hand it back.

     "Thanks, Gracia-san!" Edward-kun's grins had grown with him and still looked too big for his face. "We were just talking about getting something to eat, and this'll be better than anything we could order in." With that, he wheeled off toward the kitchen, echoes bouncing off the walls as he called back, "Turns out, you make the best casserole in _two_ worlds. Did you know that?"

     He'd left Roy Mustang standing at the door, mustering a twist to his mouth that might have been a weak smile. Sometimes, she thought she was the only person in history to have seen that man with no idea what to say. She assumed she'd get the same thanks and goodbye as always, but this time he looked back toward the kitchen and set his jaw firm. Then he stepped inside, out of her way, and pulled the door open wider. "Please, come in. I think there's some tea left, if you'd like some."

     "Thank you," she answered, crossing the threshold for the first time in years. Elicia followed close at her side. "I'd like that."

     His house was barren, more empty than she'd remembered, save for a stray inkwell on the side table and few bright oddities lying around that she had to assume were Edward-kun's. The dark red coat hanging on the coat rack was his for certain. She'd always used to say this house was more like a place Roy happened to sleep than like a home, and Roy would tell her that was all it really was. Now, even though it looked like it'd been packed up by someone moving out, for once it felt like someone was living here.

     Edward-kun was setting the dials on the oven when they walked into the kitchen.

     "Roy, do you even _have_ a baking pan? Or do I have to make one?"

     Reaching into a low cupboard, the officer pulled out a baking pan and set it on the stove. "I was once a penniless student, Ed. Basic cooking supplies were a necessity of life."

     The younger alchemist poked him in the chest, and she had to blink to be sure her eyes weren't lying. Roy Mustang was actually smiling, not making that politically pleasant face he'd worn for so long. Could that really be because Edward had come home?

     "Tomorrow I'm stopping at the grocery store on my way over," the blond told him. "You cooking food that isn't one-pot campfire chow is something I've got to see."

     "As long as you don't expect a souffle."

     Once Elicia realized they were staying, she ran straight over to Edward with her pigtails flying, tugging on his shirt and holding out the little toy pony the alchemist had made for their mutual birthday -- a cute, purple thing with sparkles in the enamel. She'd barely put it down in the weeks since then, and it was a challenge every morning getting her to leave it in the house when she went to school. The blond got right down on his knees to talk to her.

     One more time, Gracia was left standing with Roy Mustang, but at least they were inside instead of standing awkwardly on the porch. He poured some tea from the kettle and handed it to her. This time, he even met her eyes without wincing.

     "I hope you've been well?" he asked.

     "We get by."

     The uncomfortable silence lingered long enough to hear Edward remarking as he poked the pony's mane, "Astra Penelope Starfire, huh? That's a heck of a name. So why'd the dragon have a hat, anyway?"

     Imagine, not knowing how to talk to the person who'd been best man at her wedding. But she couldn't expect miracles, she supposed.

     Gracia shifted the tea mug in her hands. "And you, Mustang-san?"

     He nodded, stepping closer to the stove where Edward-kun was levering the casserole into the baking pan and commenting on the adventures of the imaginary pony starting an amusement park with a dragon.

     "Better," the officer answered.

     "And the train tracks go by the ice cream shop at the dragon's park," her daughter's voice piped up. "Astra's favorite is blueberry, but I like strawberry better. We went to the ice cream store yesterday, too, and Mrs. Barstow asked Mommy if it was true Uncle Roy was _off the market_."

     Edward nearly dropped the casserole, glancing down at her wide-eyed. The older man had a matching expression on his face, and Gracia barely had time to collect her own shock before her daughter zipped over to pull on his blue trousers.

     "Uncle Roy, do you have a wife now?"

     "Elicia!" Even without the alarm on their host's face, she knew that was the last thing Roy Mustang would want to hear. Gracia pulled her daughter away by the hand, wincing an apology at the officer. "It seems like children are never listening, but they hear every word, don't they? It's true, you are rather the talk of the town right now. I had to tell Janet that I hadn't heard a thing." He waved off the offense and she turned back to her daughter. "Elicia, sweetie..."

     Her daughter held out her hand, pointing at the Brigadier. "But Mrs. Barstow said they'd just have to ask Uncle Roy if anybody saw him because they couldn't know it was real, because even the hotel man didn't know who, because he hadn't seen them!"

     Roy pushed his hair off his forehead and cast a tight-lipped half-smile to the side, meeting amused reproach on Edward's face as the blond mouthed, '_The hotel man?_'

     If everything had to go wrong, at least he didn't seem upset by it.

     Then Elicia pouted, and sniffed.

     "Uncle Roy can't not have a wife. Daddy said he needed one."

     All ease in the room was gone. Who could guess what a ten-year-old would remember?

     Roy's eyes turned to the floor, and even Edward had caught the tension in the air. He looked away, busying himself by raking his hair up into a ponytail.

     Gracia couldn't let any hurt show in her face. Not now. She put on her best smile and smoothed her daughter's bangs.

     "Elicia, Uncle Roy will decide for himself if he needs a wife."

     "If he needs one and he can't find one at the market, I can be Uncle Roy's wife."

     She tried to think of a better way to change the topic than to tell Elicia to stay quiet. The words wouldn't come. She caught herself wincing at Roy, trying to be sure they hadn't overstayed their unexpected welcome.

     His panic was something to see. Probably imagining exactly what Maes would have said or done about the Flame Alchemist marrying his darling girl.

     It would have been astounding, she was sure. She could just...

     Roy must have seen her falter. She'd thought she'd left those waves of sudden sadness years behind her, but the man spoke up while she was still hunting for her voice.

     "Elicia-chan, I'm sure you'll find someone much nicer to marry than me."

     "No, I won't!" she declared right back.

     Now the officer wavered, too, and Gracia still couldn't trust her own voice.

     Holding his hair aloft in an untied ponytail, patting at his pants pockets, Edward shot Roy a sarcastic grin. "You're a lady-killer, Roy. Deal with it."

     And as fast as that, the tension faded. All three adults mustered enough amusement to make a single laugh between them, and Elicia found a bowl of fruit that she declared 'Apple Mountain'. Her pony started on a new adventure, everything else forgotten.

     The ringing phone broke the silence around the rest of them.

     "Excuse me for a moment," Roy said, turning for the door.

     Before he'd quite gone an inch, though, Edward snagged at his wrist, grabbing something from under Roy's cuff. As if in slow motion, Gracia saw a plain, red hair tie slip off of the man's wrist, dangling from Edward's fingers. And without stopping in his stride, Roy looked back over his shoulder to meet Edward's eyes and share a smile.

     They'd... been getting up to more than research behind closed doors.

     Riza hadn't mentioned that. So much for Janet Barstow's theories.

     _Roy Mustang! You're old enough to be his father!_ she thought straight off, catching her tongue when she saw the shy grin on Edward's face. He was looking straight at her. He could tell she knew. At least he wasn't worried that she'd realized. If Roy had been trying to make the young man keep this a secret, she and her husband's best friend have been having a much more serious talk before she left.

     Edward winced at the hair tie, spinning it around his finger before he wrapped it around his ponytail. "I guess that'd give it away."

     "The girls at school did say he was particular about hair. But even not knowing that..."

     Gracia shook her head, making herself remember that Edward wasn't as young as Alphonse-kun, despite her memory that they should have been a year apart and despite all these years she'd spent getting used to an Alphonse-kun who was five years younger than she'd been told. Edward was closer to Winry's age, and even if the girl seemed so much like another daughter than a grown-up friend, there was no question that she and Edward were adults now. And not quite so young that Roy could have been his father. Not quite.

     It was still a shock, the two of them. Then again, Roy had changed since Edward came back. And Edward seemed happy. She only hoped they knew what they were doing.

     "You're... not the blond I expected him to settle down with," she said at last.

     He was blushing just the slightest bit as he leaned back against the edge of the stove and sniffed at the warming smell of casserole in the air. "Me neither. But he's hell-bent when his mind's made up."

     So this really was a relationship, not just some fling. And _Roy_ had insisted? Concern crept over her face in earnest, seeing how taken Edward looked when he stared after the door where Roy had left. How many times had she seen that look, and on how many faces? Most girls who went on dates with Roy Mustang didn't take it any more seriously than he did, but Edward was such an earnest boy.

     She bit her lip and met his eye with a worried brow. "Edward-kun. I... I like Roy. I really do, but... He's not..."

     Gracia wove her fingers together, the reeling in her head almost cleared. It seemed mean to try explaining that her old friend was a good person, but nevertheless a bit of a bounder. On the other hand, she might have to. Edward would be the one to cry if something happened.

     "... I don't want to see you hurting over him."

     His half-smile stopped the rest of her words in her mouth. He knew. He'd been at Roy's side all those years. Of course he knew. The young man shrugged again and spread his arms out across the edge of the stove, saying nothing more than, "Been there, done that. I'm trying things his way now."

     Nodding silently, Gracia found herself remembering a day all those years ago when she'd asked why Roy's men trusted him the way they did. Maes had told her, because he didn't make many promises, and only made them to people he knew would hold him to his word. She'd certainly never met a man who was luckier in his friends than Roy Mustang.

     "I hope you'll be happy."

     He flushed a vibrant red and turned to pull the reheated casserole out of the oven. "Thanks," he murmured toward the wall, barely loud enough to hear.

     Roy came back into the room, pulling on his blue jacket. Gracia narrowed her eyes at him, and he shot a glance over to Edward's blushing face and back, chuckling as if to say he knew he'd been caught and wasn't in the least ashamed of himself. Then it was right back to business. It always was in that world.

     "Ed. That was Lt. Falman. A message came in from Alphonse-kun about something they found in the mountains, and he says it's urgent."

     At his brother's name, Edward frowned. "I'll get my coat. We're bringing the casserole."

~//~

     There hadn't been enough hours in any day of this week for Roy or his office since Alphonse-kun's communique had come in. Central City was on the eve of Major General Saulnier's talks to propose a new international athletics competition, about to play host to ambassadors from Creta, Aerugo, and most importantly Drachma and Xing. The last thing they needed was another problem.

     It had taken the younger Elric a few days to confirm that the transmutation circle in the Briggs Mountains was Xingese, but in the past week he'd performed a true miracle of reconstruction. Alphonse-kun had sent notes for nearly forty percent of the structure in today's messages. Ed was at the meeting table now, matching the shapes to charts in whatever books they could find in the Central libraries that covered Xingese alchemy.

     Seven books.

     Seven minor texts that had found their way into Amestris at random, a half-formed sketch of one array pieced together from scraps, and his lover's ingenuity had to be enough to counter that alchemist's methods, while the rest of them forestalled an all-out war that no one outside his team believed was coming.

     Except the person responsible for it.

     Steady footsteps paced up to his desk.

     "Capt. Havoc," Roy said, looking up from his paperwork. "Any updates on security for the ambassadorial quarters? I hope preparations are going smoothly."

     "Another quiet night, sir."

     So there was no sign of their hostile alchemist yet. Falman had reported no traces of drought anywhere in the country that matched conditions near Briggs, nor any other odd weather. For the moment he was out of sight.

     Havoc slipped his report onto Roy's desk. "The supply team got all the cupboards stocked up without a hitch, and we're done with contact checks on the guards. No personal issues that might compromise any officer Major General Saulnier requested, and the regulars are all set."

     "Wonderful. Keep me updated."

     "Yes, sir."

     Flipping through the report, Roy read the coded details of Havoc's findings on local vendors of alchemical supplies. No unusual purchases. No unexplained demand for any stock. No strange faces at the major suppliers or on the black market. Maybe Breda and Fuery would come find something in local research circles, but that had always been a longer shot than supply shops and bookstores. A hostile alchemist wasn't likely to be social.

     "Ed. Anything from Alphonse-kun on the state of the drought in the North?"

     Fullmetal's eyes never left his books. "I think it's safe to say that circle was the cause. The water table's up almost six centimeters now from where it was. And I thought the Eros arcana in our alchemy was counterintuitive! This Xingese system is a whole fucking different way of thinking. They've still got dualistic forces, but the elemental systems are pentanary, not quaternary, and it looks like it's fucking variable which elements are part of the five! Every one of these books has a different version! How do you work with base elements when the elements can shift? And don't get me started on the things these books don't even explain a _little_ about their metallurgy. Are we sure there aren't any more books anywhere?"

     "Unfortunately, yes. We're sure."

     "Can we ask the Xingese ambassador for books? Trade him one of our kiddy textbooks for one of theirs?"

     "I'll try to get it on our negotiation terms."

     Ed whipped around in his chair, eyebrows shooting up into his hairline.

     "Seriously?!"

     Roy nodded. He'd have no trouble selling that as a cooperative trade between their cultures, some way of symbolically reaching out to other countries to foster understanding. The diplomats would love it, and no one would see anything in a fundamental primer as being sensitive information.

     "Probably won't get here in time to crack this circle, but that'll kick ass." Eyes sparkling like they always did when he pushed his luck, Ed asked, "Any chance I can compare the principles in this array -- you know, the ones for propagating the transmutation outside the circle -- with the techniques you use to direct air currents and composition? I have a few ideas."

     "How much is this going to help you to develop a countermeasure?"

     His lover worked a crick out of his neck that Roy knew too well from endless nights studying piles of notes. "It might be the difference between having a way to defend against a ranged attack in one week and having it in three. Their principles are similar enough, and the basic cosmology fits with a lot of effects we already know. They're coming into the house through a different door, but..." With a half-groaned sigh, he picked up the most weathered book on the table. "Once I get my head around how they've used their forces and what this symbology does, I'll manage something, but it _will_ be easier for any effect where I've got a cognate."

     Not that Edward would ask about his techniques without a good reason. He, more than almost anyone, knew how much trust it took to share some secrets.

     "We'll talk about it and see what you need to know."

     Footsteps in formation echoed from outside as Captain Hawkeye opened his door and stood at attention. Everyone cleared away from his desk.

     Peace never could last forever. The soldiers to whom the footsteps belonged marched into the inner office in motions so well synchronized, they could have been a chorus line -- one heading left, then one right, and the last stopping in the middle where all three hit crisp salutes. If that hadn't assured Roy that their business was of the most unpleasantly official nature, the black uniforms and silver armbands marking them as military police would have done.

     "Brigadier General Mustang, you've been summoned to appear before the Council of Generals. Would you come with us, please?"

     Please.

     Oh, the niceties of an order they couldn't give a ranking officer for a summons he was in no position to refuse. Roy nodded at his staff. They had their instructions.

     To the men who'd been sent to fetch him, he said, "Lead the way, gentlemen."

     His own officers snapped their hands at their brows, freezing where they stood -- all except Edward who scowled without a hint of a salute. Roy smiled to assure him nothing was wrong. After all, this couldn't have been an arrest. The military police hadn't taken his gloves.

     Taking them would change nothing, but anyone arresting him would do it anyway.

     That technicality, of course, didn't blunt the surprise and fear of the men and women in the hallways, seeing him marched toward the council room by black-jacketed guards. Roy kept his chin up, his gait steady, and a nod ready for everyone who saluted as he passed.

     More guards pulled open the chamber's tremendous double doors, showing the ranks of generals seated behind their raised tables. The lower tables that the new administration had provided for those called to answer questions had disappeared. Roy stood in the harsh spotlight of windows the previous administration had built to catch the sun.

     How old fashioned.

     He struck a salute as crisp and sure as any drill sergeant could have asked -- all his contempt and annoyance adulterated with enough protocol that he couldn't be charged with insubordination. As clear as they might all be about his intentions to change this country for good, they'd never find a technicality they could use to remove him.

     Twelve faces, the friendliest carefully neutral and one or two with open distaste. Someone in this room thought they could betray this country and lock it in war. They'd be wrong.

     Hakuro scowled at Roy from his seat at the head table, next to the weary eyes of Fuhrer Halifax. He'd been clear about how little he cared for the Security Office's efforts and leadership, but Roy couldn't reconcile him to the deviousness that let someone run a successful scheme of this sort. The same went for the General of the Commerce Office, to Roy's right: Emily Northrop, with her steel-gray hair up in a severe bun that hid nothing of how she sneered down her hawkish nose.

     Roy met the eyes of everyone before him, taking a slow arc of the room.

     General Princeton Motors of the Office of Transportation, pulled his goatee -- now more salt than pepper -- to a point under his hollow cheeks.

     General Avro Lancaster of Health and Safety wasn't quite the poster boy he used to be, but his jaw was still strong and his hair had kept most of its flaxen hue.

     Lieutenant General Mistan B. Bloch was probably still an ally behind the sour look on his freckled face. It'd be good if they had someone like him to count on.

     Major General Morane Saulnier took the Office of Cultural Enrichment far too seriously to seem like a threat, but her connections were too broad to count out. Poker-faced as ever, but unlike when she shouted orders at her football team, not a lock of hair was out of place.

     At the head table, Marshal Lern Levochkin sat to Hakuro's right and Marshal Curtiss Wright to the Fuhrer's left, both of their eyes like blocks of dark ice.

     Major General Lando Defiant at the right-hand table was the only one to look bored. It was possible they could count him out after all, but Roy needed more evidence than a hunch, even if the hunch was his own.

     And after General Northrop, the two youngest members of the Council sat at the foot of the table: Brigadier General Jennessy Focke-Wolf of the Office of Agriculture, whom he wouldn't want to meet in a dark corner despite her usually friendly demeanor, but who had nothing that could implicate her in the least; and Lieutenant General Storch F. Fieseler of the Office of Regional Affairs, the long, scarred line under his eye always pulled deep by the curl of his lip.

     One of those twelve.

     "At ease, Brigadier," Marshal Wright intoned. Roy paid close attention as the Marshal bit cleanly on every syllable. "Brigadier General Roy Mustang. I understand that security preparations for the ambassadors have gone smoothly. You must be relieved. After the many pains you've had with Drachma, trouble with ambassadorial security would be the last thing you'd want."

     "Yes, sir."

     "Do you have anything further you wish to report on those attacks around Briggs, Brigadier General?"

     A question Wright would never ask, especially not this way, if he hadn't known full well there was something to say.

     "I do, sir," Roy answered. "As you know, Major Alphonse Elric, Major Russell Tringham, and Major Fletcher Tringham have been working to end the drought in the North. They and Major General Armstrong's officers at the Briggs Fortress brought our attention to an alchemical circle, found in a cave six days ago. After careful analysis, as of today, my office can say that this circle was a deliberate, man-made attack on natural resources in the North. Major Elric also confirmed in consultation with my attache, Mr. Edward Elric, that the transmutation circle is Xingese. Our efforts to locate the alchemist responsible are ongoing. All details are included in a report which should be in your offices as we speak."

     Capt. Hawkeye should have sent them the second he left with the Council's guards.

     Lt. General Bloch straightened in his chair, the cipher of his face giving way to honest surprise. "It's definitely Xingese, then?"

     "Yes, sir. Mr. Elric has confirmed Major Elric's hypothesis."

     "Maybe we can get confirmation from someone who isn't a blood relative," General Northrop scoffed. "I heard the name 'Elric' a few times too often in that explanation."

     "With all due respect, General," Bloch cut in, "as the director of the State Alchemist program, I'll be the judge of whether the Elrics' expert opinion is trustworthy. I have every reason to believe it is, and alchemists qualified to make the call they've been charged with are few and far between. The only others I'm certain of are in this room already. That being the sticky fact of the situation, I say we're safe to proceed with the Major's analysis."

     Marshal Levochkin's voice rolled over the chamber. "I agree with the Lt. General's opinion. Brigadier General Mustang, I presume you understand why this Council is concerned about you withholding your suspicion that a hostile foreign alchemist is both loose and _lost_ inside our borders."

     No one had to answer that. When he was already suspected of collusion with foreign powers, covering up the Xingese alchemist was something the Council couldn't ignore or deal with quietly. It was his chance to deliver his working theories to all the Generals in person.

     Roy looked the old man in the eye. "This attack was performed in such a way as to increase the effects of the Drachman invasion, but according to intelligence from our department's interrogations, Drachman command believed the drought to be a natural phenomenon. Major General Armstrong's efforts confirmed that finding." He scanned the faces in front of him for anyone who might crack. "Drachma had no idea that the alchemist, whether or not he was an agent of Xing, was present -- yet their actions aligned. Given the implications, I judged it wise to be absolutely certain before I asked the Council to accept my office's analysis."

     General Lancaster leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to blue slits. "Implications, Brigadier? Now, I'm not privy to Drachma's current relations with Xing, but I do know that a country might not tell all the details of its secret operations to every soldier. They might be captured and interrogated as you captured and interrogated those forces, and it's just not a practical way to run an army. What, exactly, does this imply beyond an alliance between Drachma and Xing?"

     "This Council is aware of my previous judgment that the invading forces had an ally within Amestris itself." There were no nods , but a great deal of attention. "The clout to call down the Drachman Army indicates someone with a great deal of influence, far more than anyone outside our government would have, and the fact that the Drachmans haven't named their collaborator means they either still fear or still trust that person despite the defeat of their forces. He or she must be well placed. Add the access necessary to contract with Xing, and I have no choice--"

     Hakuro took to his feet, flushing bright red. "_You_, Brigadier General Mustang, want to accuse someone on this Council of being a traitor?"

     "Yes," Roy answered. "And if that person is managing Drachma and Xing such that each is blind to the other's involvement, then he or she plans to instigate another war and take power while our neighbors clash over the spoils of Amestris. I know the gravity of thus accusing a superior officer, but I will fulfill my duty to the citizens of my country. That plan will fail."

     No one so much as blinked, but he took note of who looked particularly unimpressed as Hakuro boiled over.

     "Well, that's rich. Maybe it takes a traitor to know one, assuming this isn't another fairy tale you and Edward Elric cooked up! You and that boy have been thick as thieves all along, playing m-- Playing this country for fools!"

     "That will do," Marshal Wright sighed, cutting Hakuro off. "I, for one, want something less circumstantial before we indict anyone. Brigadier General Mustang, if there's something to find, I suggest you find it, and refrain from omitting any other points of national security from your reports. This Council is capable of understanding any notes you choose to include about which facts are less than 100% certain, and of making any necessary conclusions on our own."

     "Of course, Marshal."

     He'd expected that dressing-down to end with the General of the Left saying, "Dismissed", and sending him on his way, but the word didn't come. In fact, he saw none of the surly air he'd expected of the top brass finishing an annoying bit of business (namely, him).

     "Is there anything further?" he asked.

     Marshal Levochkin shifted some of the paperwork in front of him. "One... smaller matter, while we're on the subject of Mr. Elric. A few members of this Council have found his hobby of drafting political essays to be amusing, if somewhat unexpected given his disposition." Roy swallowed a smile when the Marshal held up a green-bound pamphlet. "It's less amusing when we find those essays at underground rallies. Now, I don't think you're an idiot, Brigadier General, and only an idiot would enable the extremely high-profile State Alchemist on their staff to openly distribute subversive literature under his own name."

     From his dry tone, practically dripping sarcasm, Roy was certain that Levochkin wasn't the one with the complaint. More likely Hakuro or Focke-Wolf.

     "I assume you have no reason to believe Mr. Elric is fomenting a counter-establishment revolution, Brigadier General Mustang?"

     "To the best of my knowledge, sir, he's conducting scholarly analysis of an ancient civilization, for no end other than the work itself."

     Marshal Wright curled his lip, looking less amused than Levochkin. "So in your opinion, there's no validity to concerns that he's making veiled commentary on our administration, under the guise of analyzing Kyrus?"

     Again, Hakuro nearly leapt over his table. "Is there any point to asking _him_? Assuming it wasn't his idea in the first place, _Brigadier General Mustang_ has bent procedure to keep Elric -- a presumed-dead soldier -- on his staff, abandoned his office to follow Elric around the North for a month, and now they're both under investigation for selling out to Drachma. These inflammatory political tracts are just another sign that when it comes to _his lapdog_, Roy Mustang's judgment is compromised. We need to call Elric to answer for himself and reassign him somewhere he'll have reliable observation!"

     Marshal Wright swung his chair toward Hakuro. "John, if _your_ personal feelings have compromised your judgment, you're free to leave the table."

      "Point of order," General Lancaster called out. "As head of Security, Brigadier General Mustang would serve on any tribunal for Security officers, or for Mr. Elric. We _will_ have to settle those conflicts of interest if this... essay matter... goes to hearing."

     "Then allow me to settle them," Roy announced before anyone else could speak. "Yes. My personal feelings toward Mr. Elric _would_ force me to recuse myself from any tribunal convened regarding him. I considered that in my request that he be transferred to the civilian attache corps within the State Alchemist program. He is _attached_ to my command, but hardly _under_ it. The Council may choose to set the precedent that the head of the State Alchemist program would serve on his tribunal, and thus avoid that conflict of interest."

     For the first time that day, and possibly for the first time since the old man had wrestled the post-Bradley chaos back into order, Roy saw a smile crack Fuhrer Halifax's lips. None of the rest of the Council seemed to notice, nor to do anything but wait for Mustang to finish.

     "If you wanted my judgment, I would need to decline. But you've asked for my opinion, and my opinion is that Edward Elric is the least subversive person I can imagine." Roy let himself offer a reluctant-seeming grin. "Marshal, I believe anyone who has spent five minutes with Mr. Elric would agree that there's never anything veiled about his commentary."

     Lancaster, Levochkin, and Bloch all had to catch themselves laughing, and a few other Generals hid grins behind coughs and or a well-placed fist.

     Levochkin nodded and refiled the pamphlet in his notes. "I've had someone speak to the girl in my office he's been using to help with his research, and I'm convinced that _Mr. Elric_ perceives his text as referring only to Kyrus. All the same, Brigadier: ask him to tone it down, and excise any statements that could be problematic before those essays leave your office. If some radical movement makes them a rallying point, neither of you will find, '_That isn't what we meant_,' to be a functional defense."

     "Understood."

     "Very well. Brigadier General Mustang, you're dismissed."

     The walk back to his office was much more pleasant than his march out -- taken on his own, at his own pace, and in the knowledge that there was no firing squad in any of their immediate futures. The culprit hadn't given his game away, but this was hardly their last round.

     His staff were absent when he walked through the door, scattered to deliver the reports he'd just promised the Generals and to make sure the story going around the watercooler was one Roy wanted told. Edward was the only one left, a scowl simmering on his face.

     He could barely contain his smile, remembering his orders to rein Ed in.

     "Fullmetal. Keep up the good work." A book blocked his scowl, but Roy could tell it wasn't gone. "I'm back unscathed, as you can see."

     "Damn straight you are." The blond pushed a stack of papers to the edge of his table. "You definitely weren't allowed to get executed for treason until you read that, since I damn well wrote it for you and _I didn't want to_."

     The latest paper in the set the Generals were so concerned about -- not that they needed to worry about violent revolutions. He meant to direct any revolution that might develop towards a peaceful reconstruction of their government. They'd had enough bloodshed for three lifetimes.

     The first page of visible text was just as boring as taxes always were, although he was sure Edward's vinegar would find its way into the prose by the second page. The encoded report inside it started off with plenty. '_Bloch did the same damn thing as last week, and the week before. Why the fuck do you want me to watch him still? Isn't he on our side now?_'

     Only Edward would use twenty-four letters of cover text to encode four of profanity.

     '_And since I have to write this whole damn essay for you anyway, I hope you want to hear about how I'm working on a unified theory of conspiracy cracking now..._'

     Roy glanced over Ed's shoulder at the alchemical sketches. "This looks excellent."

     "Next one's on why we need to elect people and how to do it, right?"

     That was going to be a good one. Too bad they had to move it back in the queue.

     "Actually, I'd like you to expound on the many virtues of fair trial by jury."

     Edward's book hit the table, his eyes narrowing. "_What did you do?!_"

     "Nothing! I should think you'd know that, with the way you complain about how I never get anything done during the day."

     He turned the page on Edward's report, taking in a few generalities about different forms of taxes explained in terms correct enough to please any financier and simple enough to reach any average reader on the street. Coded within that, colorful metaphors comparing their task of unmasking the mystery General to an act he called 'collapsing the waveform'.

     '_Something they want is where they think they can get it,_' Ed wrote. '_They don't have it yet or they wouldn't be in this holding pattern, but it's something they need, something they'd grab if the house was on fire, and something they'll come to us for if we take it. And it's not me, you idiot! You only thought it was me because you think everything's about you, and everybody wants what you want, and you stepped out of line because you wanted me._'

     If the code had allowed for bolded emphasis, Roy was sure Ed would have used it.

     '_But looking at what you did when you were after me--_'

     "Can you not read that while I'm around, Roy?"

     "Oh? And what am I reading that's so offensive, Fullmetal?" he asked with a grin. A quick scan showed an analysis of how he'd acted upon Edward's return, with nothing effusive or poetic. But Ed would be Ed.

     "I can hear how many pages you've turned, and the part you're at now is embarrassing. Flip three more pages, and you can go back for that when I'm not around."

     Marking his place, Roy flipped the whole packet shut and planted a kiss on Edward's hair.

     "I think you're getting the hang of this," he whispered.

~//~

     Ed rubbed his eyes as he walked up to Roy's house, exhausted from poring over Xingese alchemy in addition to inventing his own, plus his conspiracy side project. He triggered the alchemical lock that bastard still hadn't undone even though it'd been weeks since a spy had come after them. No need to even look at it, which was good because he wasn't entirely sure his eyes could focus.

     Maybe he'd take a nap before he went back to the office. He'd been trying to apply Roy's policy on taking breaks, walking away to do kicks and punches in his backyard when his head started spinning, but there was too much crap to stuff through his brain, and he needed it now. Working himself to exhaustion might be a luxury, but so was dropping critical projects so he could play a game of solitaire.

     Now, where was the rock the Tringhams had shipped down for him to look at?

     Not at the bookshelf where he found himself before he noticed where his feet had taken him, that was for sure. Stupid signal books. Like he needed those now. The Colonel was doing Brigadier business, and would be all day. But Ed stepped onto the chair anyway. He'd promised he'd put the book out when he came over, and damn it, Roy would know if he hadn't done it next time they saw each other.

     A door clicked shut upstairs.

     "Roy? What the fuck are you doing home at two in the afternoon?!" he yelled out.

     There was no answer. Suddenly all focus came back into his brain: Roy's old adventure novel was still on the shelf.

     "Oh, shit."

     That wasn't Roy. He dashed around the table, hitting the stairs in three long bounds. Running the steps two at a time, Ed barrelled into Roy's room. The window was open, curtain flapping. No thieves running over the rooftops, nobody as far as he could see on the ground. Nothing smashed on the window, either. Whoever'd been here had undone the seals, not broken anything.

     "We found our alchemist, huh?" Ed muttered.

     It wasn't hard to see what he'd been looking at -- the skeletal caverns of empty bookshelves didn't hide anything, especially not the panels removed from the false wall Ed and Roy had built onto the chimney shaft. The investigators had missed the signs of a transmuted cache, but this guy hadn't. The way their notes had been leafed through, he hadn't just grabbed a random pile either. He'd been looking for something. Ed was sure as fuck nobody could have read their research code, which meant someone was reading their arrays and making guesses.

     He was sure it was the Xingese alchemist, although he could hear Roy's voice in the back of his head telling him not to leap to conclusions. What other possibilities were there? If their conspiratorial mastermind had another alchemist at his disposal, he would've managed to get in through the window before now. Right now was pretty good timing for someone who'd been hiking down from the Briggs Mountains while trying not to get spotted.

     One basic diagram on activating alchemical energy was missing. Not their finished theory, but it wasn't rough either. None of the stuff they'd done playing around with fluid dynamics was gone, which could be good if the infiltrator hadn't realized he'd need it or very bad if he already had a working version of it. Maybe Xing had cracked that particular topology problem three hundred years ago and opted not to share.

     All the practical theories, like magnetic levitation or heat to electricity transfers, were still in place. One missing circle had been the start of a communication theory, to send information through matching shapes on transmuted quanta, but that one had been a dead end. The ones that were going to be a problem were the three roughed out stages for teleportation. They'd be hard to reconstruct, though not impossible if the worst happened, but they also had some promise -- and the promise of leaping from point A to point B with no restraints was definitely not something they wanted their enemy to have.

     Forget tracking armies. They could zip in and zip out, appearing from thin air like...

     Like people had been saying Roy did when they'd accused him of bringing Drachma into Amestris in the first place. Like Ed hadn't thought anyone would take seriously, but a lot of people had stopped calling impossible lately.

     Mostly, Ed thought, because of him. As far as any of them knew, '_appear from thin air_' was what he'd done when he came home. No matter how much the Generals nodded and took notes when he talked about science and called it a rabbit-hole, that's what it looked like to them.

     He shoved their notes away and transmuted the cache good and fucking shut, then did the same with all the windows, and ran out the door as fast as he knew how to run. He could get to Roy's office in five minutes flat, and he didn't need a quantum tunneling effect to do it.

~//~

     Hawkeye was filing their latest observations on setup for the ambassadorial quarters, with notes on itineraries Major General Saulnier had planned for their visitors, when the sound of thunder rolled down the hallway.

     "What the...?" Havoc asked.

     Footsteps screeched to nothing in front of their door, and every officer in the room backed against the walls. That had to be Edward-kun, ready to bowl in like a steam train.

     Even more like a steam train than usual.

     The door shot open, their cushion attachment falling off its nails, and a streak of blond hair dodged the corners of the desks, papers flying as he ran past. Red-faced and panting, Edward-kun stared down their commander, who'd forgotten the papers on his own desk. Roy's face edged from surprise to alarm as he watched Edward-kun catch his breath.

     "Roy. I... They..." He balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut like he was thinking harder than he'd ever thought before. "S... Scattered showers?!" he forced out of his mouth.

     Everyone in the room switched to full alert then -- there was no good reason for Edward-kun to be trying to remember the code word for enemy intrusion.

     With a growl, Edward-kun clapped his hands together. "Fuck this," the alchemist spat. His hands hit the wall on either side of the door.

     Her eyes were on the blond, so the clearest thing Hawkeye saw was the filigree of blue electric arcs shooting around Edward's automail arm and leg, shredding his shirt and taking the man himself to his knees. He didn't scream, but the sound of his gasp churned in her gut, and his face was contorted in pain.

     All around them, the blasts of light bulbs shattering and sparks dancing out of electrical plugs were just a background echo to Edward-kun falling. But once the room was dark -- the only light left what came in through Roy's windows -- she saw scorches on the nearest walls, the ceiling, and on ventilation systems where there shouldn't have been electronics but had definitely been sparking wires.

     The bugs on their office?

     Had Edward-kun blown out his automail to destroy all the radio devices the Brigadier General had let enemies keep in their office? What could he need to say that badly?

     Hawkeye stepped forward when he tried to stand despite the pain, and she saw his arm and leg were acting more like dead metal than like limbs. He pushed her away. But he only got half a step before he stumbled over a foot that wouldn't lift and had to catch himself on a chair.

     Brigadier General Mustang's mouth was a stone line. "Fullmetal, what did you just do?"

     "Fucking ow!" the blond gasped, his right hand twitching like it was trying to form a fist and couldn't quite manage. When the sunlight hit it, Hawkeye could see the scorch marks on that, too.

     Edward-kun moved his leg better the second time, although he looked like he was dragging a block.

     "People I knew had a theory, that some kinds of explosion would make an electromagnetic pulse and overjuice electrical conductors. I thought I'd make a tiny one without the bomb. Now can I talk about how some fucker was in your house raiding our notes?"

     Roy's hand clenched on his desk as he closed his eyes. "Lt. Breda, Capt. Havoc, collect all that surveillance equipment, and clean up those scorch marks before anyone comes in."

     They were on the walls as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Hawkeye headed to the Brigadier's desk to take all the notes that she was sure were forthcoming.

     "2nd Lt. Fuery, go to the head custodian. Tell him a power surge hit our floor, and find out how far the damage went." Roy hadn't opened his eyes, and his breath sounded like he was forcing it to stay slow and deep, but his expression was more calm. In appearance, anyway.

     While Fuery was still running for the door, their commander turned his full, cold attention back on Edward-kun.

     "Now, I'd like to hear everything."

     "I went to your house. Someone was in it. Somebody who could pick through our alchemy circles and take the ones he wanted, which happened to be about ... something I think might get us our mastermind," he said, not saying any of the details of his work out loud despite the explosive precautions he'd taken to be sure prying ears wouldn't hear. "So I never thought I'd say this, but I want you to get me the rabbit-hole."

     "You think if I transfer total control of that project to you, something in it will bring the person we want straight to our door?"

     He didn't make a single comment, Hawkeye noted, about how the conspiracy they'd been tracking had started long before Edward-kun had come back with his tales of interdimensional rabbits. Nor did he mention that the rabbit-hole was a fiction, nor that Edward-kun had let the rabbit-hole go in the first place because there was nothing for the government to find or implement. It was a fiction the Council had believed and paid attention to.

     "I see a pattern," Edward-kun answered. "I'm calling it. Get me the rabbit-hole."

     As if it would be that easy. But Roy would find a way.

     After a moment of staring with his irritation barely concealed as the younger alchemist scowled, daring Roy to question him and completely oblivious to how excruciating it was to see him clutch his quaking shoulder. He stumbled toward the desk at a fraction of his usual speed.

     Roy's breath stopped for an instant as he looked away from Edward-kun.

     "Capt. Hawkeye, call the police and report the break-in at my house. Tell them Ed interrupted the intruder without getting a good look at him. Say nothing appears to have been stolen, but that I expect their full cooperation in finding the would-be thief. Recenter your efforts on tracking the alchemist, now that it's likely they're in our midst. The papers they have in hand aren't something they should be playing with."

     Hawkeye nodded. Edward-kun reached the desk.

     Roy pretended not to see him.

     "I assume the Kestrel Protocols are primed to implement?"

     "Yes, sir. At your word," Hawkeye answered.

     He dropped his papers on his desk, unfinished, and walked around his desk with crisp precision. Without looking at Edward-kun, she noticed. So did Edward-kun. The anger shivering across the blond's face at being ignored looked like a countdown to a far worse explosion than the one that'd happened a minute before.

     "Good." The Brigadier straightened his cuffs and shrugged his jacket into order on his shoulders as he strode toward the door. "I believe it's time to catch a rat. And Fullmetal?"

     "_What?!_"

     "Find a chair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "The Substance of Things Hoped For" was Chapter 16 of Anne of Avonlea, published in 1909. The title of the next chapter, if you're playing the guessing game, will be, "Two Temptations".
> 
> 2) Addressing the science behind an electromagnetic pulse is beyond the scope of anything I'm doing, but if you've never heard of one and would like to read about what just happened, [Wikipedia has lots to say about EMPs](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Electromagnetic_pulse).
> 
> 3) The game Roy plays with Ed is called "Obstruction", and (I confess!) is a massive anachronism (but only if we assume that the game absolutely could not have existed in Amestris before it was invented on Earth -- very recently -- by a Romanian mathematician named László Kozma). I'm choosing to say that the game's invention timeline doesn't matter in the least, and Roy can play whatever paper-and-pencil games he wants. If you want to look at the rules and an online demonstration, there's a player engine [on the Pencil And Paper Games website](http://www.papg.com/show?2XMX).
> 
> 4) Because the attempt at a democracy referenced at the end of the 2003 anime appeared to have fallen completely out of order by the time the Conqueror of Shamballa movie happened, I've made a few assumptions here and there about why that government might have failed (most of them based on the fallout from the creation of the [Articles of Confederation](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Articles_of_Confederation) that preceded the United States Constitution). The essays Roy is having Edward write to promote a desire in the citizenry to try another democracy, and to address solutions to problems that caused the previous attempt to fail (or fall short of his democratic ideals in any way) are all based on topics covered in [The Federalist](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Federalist_Papers), being the 85 papers written by Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay in order to persuade readers to adopt the Constitution. The full text of all 85 papers is available at [the Library of Congress website](http://thomas.loc.gov/home/histdox/fedpapers.html), among other places. With the inclusion of this bit of political wonkery, this fic now contains material from every class I took in my senior year of college. ::facepalm:: I like to think my tutors would approve.
> 
> 5) All the funny terms Alphonse uses to describe Edward's circle are words I stole from [components of heraldry](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heraldry#Components_and_rules).


	9. Two Temptations

     The ache stabbing out of Ed's arm and leg wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, but it was better than an hour ago when he'd shredded all his nerves because he forgot he had wires inside his own parts. Like an idiot. Now that the pain wasn't blanking out everything else, he could even walk. Mostly. Fine control was shot, and he couldn't lift his foot or his palm, but the hip, knee, shoulder, elbow... it was like rowing sand, but they _moved_. He was good enough to balance while he scrubbed a wall, or helped sort blasted electronics.

     Next time he saw Winry, he'd have to thank her for putting shielded circuits wherever she could get them.

     He tried not to think about how the inside of his automail would look like the charred masses that used to be wiretaps. He just had to focus on what he was doing, and he'd get it done whether or not his arm was working -- and whether or not Roy acted like he'd fucked up.

     He knew he'd fucked up. He wasn't stupid. He could see the dark hallways, and he knew all the phone lines were down. He knew reports on the damage were still coming in. Was he somehow not good enough to clean up his own mess, for Roy to act like he had to sit there and watch while everyone else tried to cover up his goddamned, monster-size fuck up?

     Wasn't Roy even going to ask if he'd rather own up to it with the brass than tell more lies?

     Of course he wasn't. He was already out there, tying everything up with a bow and doing whatever the fuck he wanted, because _Colonel Puppetmaster_ could do no wrong, and never ever ever screwed up like normal human people did. Everything he wanted was always right, and justified, and it always worked perfectly, because why fail when you could be Roy Mustang instead? Why ask what anybody else wants when you're already perfect at every fucking thing?

     And fixing Ed's fuck ups was what Roy did best. Roy'd probably say it himself.

     Ed never asked for that kind of help, any more than he'd asked to blow up every single circuit or radio inside Central Command. And he couldn't risk fucking up Roy's new super-scheme any more than he could undo everything he'd broken. There was no way to win.

     He was too pissed to look up when the bastard finally came back. The way Roy walked through the room pushed waves through the air that Ed could practically feel boiling on his skin, but he kept sorting electronics like he hadn't noticed the Colonel's _grand entrance_.

     "Lt. Falman. Sketch this blast distribution data on the chalkboard. I'll need the diagram before the Generals arrive."

     "Yes, sir."

     With no working light bulbs to brighten the place, sun coming in through the slatted window blinds dappled the green slate like zebra stripes, but that didn't slow Falman down.

     "Lt. Breda, draw a radius from Central Command on the city map. I want one line as far from the building as Alphonse-kun said that cave was from the affected aquifer near Briggs, and a second boundary for how much further a man could run in four hours."

     "Yes, sir!"

     "Everyone, allow me to be brief, as time is short."

     As much as he wanted not to look, Ed couldn't stop himself. He wished he hadn't looked. Just like when the blast had gone up, Roy seemed to see right through him or past him or somehow not _at him_, like he wasn't even worth seeing right now.

     "We are about to come to the conclusion that the Xingese alchemist who has newly arrived in Central attempted to harness the power of Fullmetal's rabbit-hole to attack this building. This will convince the Generals responsible for administering the rabbit-hole that it is an extraordinarily potent, weaponizable force, as evidenced by the current state of our military headquarters. If our traitor doesn't want it already, they will want it very much once this meeting is over. Then, I will ask and the Generals will agree to lock down every scrap of information that exists on the rabbit-hole in the care of this office."

     Ed didn't want to imagine how Roy expected to strongarm that.

     "The traitor will be in a hurry for answers, and there will be only two places to get them: from us, or by running to our rogue alchemist. That chance will come once. Don't miss it."

     "Yes, sir!" everyone chorused. Except Ed.

     Roy wasn't talking to _him_.

     As fast as Ed pulled the last dead transmitter out of an air vent, Havoc whisked the container off to wherever he was hiding the evidence. All at once, Ed was too close to Roy, with nothing to distract him from how Roy was looking at everything but him. Currently, that meant sketches of the Xingese array. Ed reached to clear his mess of books off the table, brushing Roy's arm not quite accidentally on purpose to remind the fucker he was right there.

     The Colonel stopped his hand. For a second, he clenched it so tight, Ed almost gasped. Before the man turned to the wall, Ed thought he saw Roy's eyes screw shut till they shook.

     Then Roy dropped a pile of fabric on top of the books -- a red jacket from the tailor down the street and a new pair of gloves. If Ed had to guess, meeting the Generals with his busted arm showing past his burned-out sleeve counted as 'showing weakness in front of the enemy'. He threw on the coat, but he didn't say thanks.

     The bastard's face was as cold-carved as marble when he turned back around.

     "I believe I told you to sit," Roy said.

     "How the fuck am I supposed to help sitting down?! There's too much to do!"

     "You can make three clean copies of your best draft of this array. If you finish that, I'm still waiting for your latest essay on Kyrus."

     "Seriously?!" Ed hissed. "You're staging a national security emergency, making this office into a bullshit circus the size of a small town to catch a mystery alchemist with _our arrays_ that could blow up reality, and you want me to write those goddamned essays?!"

      "Our target needs to see this level of activity isn't taxing our resources in the slightest."

     "You're insane!"

     "Well, if you can't handle the workload, I can--"

     "You can shut the fuck up, is what you can do!" Kicking his chair at the wall, he slammed the nearest book shut. "I'll show you what I can handle."

     Roy didn't even make that infuriating smile. He just walked to his desk to sort papers.

     "The rabbit-hole committee will be here for their briefing at 3:15 PM. We'll need to get them up to speed before the ambassadors join us."

     "_The ambassadors?_ Why the fuck--"

     "Fullmetal. This is your last chance to be certain that taking the rabbit-hole project is a good idea. There will be no going back. From here on, you will be personally accountable for satisfying the highest authorities in the military on the actual existence and nature of what is, technically speaking, a complete fiction you perpetrated. If you're not sure you can handle _that_, remember you'll do worse than hang for it if you fail."

     "I'm sure," he growled. Or tried to growl. His voice broke halfway through.

     Ed knew he couldn't mess up. Like he knew he wasn't as good as Roy at the lying, cheating, and acting parts of this whole slick, underhanded business. Like he knew it was stupid that he hated himself for trusting Roy right now, when Roy was being this much of a prick, and couldn't even manage to doubt that the plan would work. It'd work, and it'd be perfect -- rigged down to the bolts so Ed wouldn't have to tell a single lie he couldn't manage with a straight face.

     Fucking bastard.

     Knowing Roy was going to trust him, too, and that he'd throw a wrench into the whole fucking machine of government just because Ed had asked... No. Maybe Roy was doing this because tying the blast to the Xingese alchemist and pretending it was the rabbit-hole was the cleanest way to dispose of all his problems at once, now that Ed had made a colossal mess.

     He felt sick to his stomach.

     "Let me do the talking, Fullmetal," Roy said, a sharp edge on his voice. "If anyone asks you questions, answer short and to the point."

     "I know the drill, Roy. I'll do whatever I need to do."

     Finally, the man looked straight at him.

     "You've made that very clear," Roy said with a look that made Ed feel more like a disobedient kid than he had in a decade. Then the Colonel walked out the door to the outer office, leaving Ed with all his notes on Xingese alchemy and too much irritation to look at them.

     None of this would've happened if that mystery alchemist working with their mystery mastermind hadn't taken their arrays that could fucking level the city. From now on, his research was getting locked in a fucking exploding puzzle box.

     Soldiers snapped to attention in the next room.

     It was showtime.

     "As you were," Lt. General Bloch called out. "So, Brigadier General. Your office caught that power surge, too. That was one hell of a thing to come out of nowhere."

     "That's what I've called you here to discuss, but we'll start when everyone arrives."

     The two Generals strolled into the inner office, calm as could be. Lt. General Bloch shifted his eyes from Roy to Ed. "The rabbit-hole was the last project I thought could cause an emergency meeting, and I never thought the call would come out of your office."

     Marshal Levochkin and Lt. General Fieseler strode through the door one after the other, answering the salutes from all of Roy's officers. "This had better be good," the Marshal grunted, and stomped toward the table with barely a pause to greet his fellow Generals.

     Fieseler grimaced through dragging his automail leg. His parts weren't built as well as Winry had built Ed's own. Ed could tell, the Lieutenant General's leg wasn't moving except where he pushed it, not even a little. He'd need to see a mechanic before he could walk again.

     All the cut-throat seriousness of the three Generals was casual, not the uptight protocol of normal reviews. More like the familiarity he knew from Bridge night, but without the dirty jokes, General Lancaster's neverending supply of sunflower seeds (or Lancaster, for that matter, and sourpuss Fieseler was a crappy substitute), or the whisky. It was somehow scary enough to make his blood run as cold as that time a serial murderer tied him to a chair in a meat locker.

     He could handle that. Although if Roy was never going to stop treating him like a baby, he might just have to go back to Resembool. He couldn't take it, looking at that face when things were like this. But he didn't have time for 'relationship' bullshit with everything going on, so for now he was going to shut the fuck up and deal.

     "Gentlemen," Roy started, "I have reason to believe there's an information leak in the rabbit-hole project, and that leak represents a threat not only to the project but to the safety of the entire city. Possibly the entire country."

     Marshal Levochkin squinted his wrinkled, old face at Roy.

     "Well, don't stop there."

~//~

     Alphonse hung up the phone on yet another dead line. This wasn't good. First, all those sparks burning out the telegraph line, and now every phone number he knew in Central was dead? Headquarters, home, everyone's houses, even the sandwich delivery shop.

     Anyone targeting the Brigadier General wouldn't have bothered with a sandwich shop. The entire city, as far as he could determine, was out of contact.

     On his way to the laboratory to grab his work, he ran into Russell coming out of the telegraph room.

     "Anything?" the older alchemist asked.

     "The telegraph was the only piece of our equipment affected. Our phone lines are fine. I was able to call a few places, but nowhere in Central. If I had to guess, I'd say their entire communications network was destroyed -- which happens to include the telegraph running here. Assuming that surge rode the line from Central, and assuming regular phone lines out of Central must've stopped similar surges at exchange points--"

     "Why are we assuming things?!" Russell trailed him into the lab, pulling at his hair as Alphonse packed his sketches away. "We have no idea what's happening! Why did you leap to, 'Oh! Some disaster in Central City must have sent a power surge _350 miles_ to make blue lightning erupt out of our telegraph line and turn every wire in the teletyper to char?!'"

     Alphonse flipped his files shut and collected his pencils. "All of this happening at once is too sudden, inexplicable, and enormously destructive for my brother not to be in the middle of it."

     "I... But...!" Dropping his head, Russell sighed. "Okay, fine, I guess you have a point. So you're leaving?"

     "I've written my test schedule for the next two weeks in the log. All standard stuff."

     The other alchemist shook his head and turned for the door. "I'll let Fletcher know."

     Checking his papers one last time, Alphonse shoved the folders into his bag and jogged for the front entrance. He threw in a package of field rations for the road and swept his coat onto his shoulders. It took all his willpower to stay inside the door and zip it before he ran out into the cold. Getting sick or catching frostbite wasn't going to help anyone.

     Russell stepped out of the nearest lab and dashed towards him. "Al? You're leaving now?! I thought you meant tomorrow morning!"

     "If I run, I can make the last train to Central." Thank goodness the trains were running or he'd have had no chance of getting back. "Nii-san needs me now. I'm sorry, Russell."

     There were too many things he couldn't tell Russell about exactly how bad things might be in Central right now. If Nii-san was fighting someone, the future of the entire country might balance on it. Or he might be chasing a purse-snatcher. With his brother, it could be hard to tell, but the future of the entire country was too likely to rule out.

     The older Tringham brushed his bangs out of his eyes with a frown. "Well, don't just stand there, then." Kicking at the floor, he turned back into the laboratory. "If you want to make that train, you'd better haul ass."

     He nodded goodbye, then sprinted for the door and the snow-packed path to the station.

~//~

     Mustang made a show of checking the latest report from Stravik Town that Bloch couldn't believe was honest. If that data had mattered, the Flame Alchemist would have memorized it.

     "I assume this information is still correct?" the man asked Fieseler. "All attempts to summon the rabbit-hole have taken place in the East? None here in Central?"

     "That's right," Fieseler answered. "And none of our trials have gotten a single reaction."

     "Maybe you're not using enough power, then. Someone did summon the rabbit-hole to Central -- here, in fact, to this building." The Brigadier pointed to the blown light bulbs around his office. "That person has no issue with using enough power, but their control leaves much to be desired. That is... unless this effect was their intention all along. Either way, this won't be the last attack of this kind that we see."

     Levochkin's eye twitched and his voice turned dry. "Every piece of wiring shot? Every audio tape in the building erased, maybe more? Phone lines down around the city? God, we're lucky this building's not on the main power grid, or a surge might have sent all of Central dark. No one in Stravik Town reported anything like this when Mr. Elric came home."

     "Mr. Elric came through a completely stable natural formation in an empty field. Not only were there no electronics within a mile of his entry point, this attack destabilized the very energy that our attacker attempted to harness. As you can see, the effects are nothing to trifle with."

     Bloch knew the bullshit dance. After working with fellow alchemists for years before he became the authority who approved their certifications, he knew it from the giving end and the receiving end. The rabbit-hole had stunk of so much bullshit from the moment Mustang had first explained Elric's story, he'd figured Roy Mustang wouldn't make that much of an ass out of himself without a damn good reason. Then he'd watched Elric answer every question put to him with so much genuine certainty and provable fact that Bloch had begun to wonder if he'd misread the bullshit in the first place.

     But this was definitely bullshit. Mustang couldn't claim to know with certainty what kind of energy had done this, or whether it had been stable. There wasn't any equipment built or even theorized to perform those tests, let alone installed in the Security Office. For the next step in the dance, someone would ask him for proof -- assuming the other Generals at the table were too savvy to be bamboozled -- and Mustang would claim his "proof" was an anecdotal report from an expert who could say any damn thing he wanted, and whose experience couldn't be confirmed or denied by a verifying source.

     Only Edward Elric had been to that other world. If he said their "advanced rabbit-hole science" would turn purple into peacocks when the weather was right, who could argue?

     Fieseler led on the first step as he growled, "My men have seen nothing like this in six months of testing. Are we supposed to take your word that the rabbit-hole did this, Mustang? Show us your evidence."

     "When my attaché -- who has studied this phenomenon for years and is the only person in living memory to have traversed a rabbit-hole -- immediately recognizes an unstable portal, I trust his observation."

     Right on the beat.

     Bloch eyed Elric, who stopped sketching to stare back, daring him to call that bluff.

     While the blond promised him with a scowl that he could make Mustang's every piece of poppycock sound plausible, the Brigadier told the table, "Mr. Elric explained to me that this phenomenon, which he calls an '_electromagnetic pulse_', is a well documented occurrence when destabilized wavicles exist in anything near that kind of mass."

     Both his fellow Councilmen joined Bloch in staring down Elric. Fieseler hissed, "It didn't occur to you to mention that earlier?"

     "My third report," the young alchemist answered, looking ready to spit bullets. "I said wavicles channel significant levels of electromagnetic radiation on my list of reasons why it was a bad idea to open a rabbit-hole. I didn't realize I had to mention exploding light bulbs."

     That wasn't a lie. Elric had written that, all right. And he'd built a voltmeter to measure the electrical charge in the air when one of the alchemists in Research did a series of transmutations, to show them what he'd meant. Bloch had never thought anything of the sparks around everything he transmuted before that, but whether you called it 'wavicles' or 'rabbit-holes' or what have you, there was no question that alchemical reactions had electrified the air. Elric couldn't have faked those tests.

     But those had been sparks. Barely enough to tickle if they hit you.

     Bloch snapped the silence in the room by drawing a breath. "What transmutation could generate enough residual energy for every wire around to look like it got hit by lightning at once?"

     A haunted sadness fell over the anger on Elric's face, but he never broke his stare. "The kind where you should be glad this wasn't a side effect. If it was, you might not have a city left."

     The look in his eyes made Bloch hold his tongue. There were questions he didn't want to ask Hohenheim's son, especially not in front of witnesses. No benefit would come of asking for details on a past that, Bloch was now very sure, Roy Mustang had good reasons to hide.

     And it was Roy Mustang who filled the silence before anyone else had a chance to ask. "There's no evidence of any transmutation on that scale anywhere in the vicinity. Our working hypothesis is that our attacker has learned to transmute the effect itself. Much like you can push a candle and generate residual heat through friction, but burning the wick generates significantly more heat with significantly less effort, we believe this alchemist has found a way to gather wavicles on purpose rather than as a byproduct. My concern, gentlemen, is that no one unconnected to the rabbit-hole research should know this energy exists. For him or her to have this information and know how to use it is troublesome enough..."

     The Flame Alchemist walked to the chalkboard, wearing their heavy stares like a fine, new coat. There was a picture of Headquarters waiting for him, with zones marked out and labeled with levels of damage. Mustang traced the edge in an arc.

     "I hope an independent analysis can confirm this, but the first reports I've received show a distribution pattern that matches what Mr. Elric described to me for an electromagnetic pulse, and which indicate the surge effect was centered here, in the Security office. The room where we're sitting now would have been the eye of the storm, as it were."

     If Mustang was offering to let someone to double-check his work, he was damn certain. Something still wasn't right, but the Brigadier was nothing if not convincing. Bloch glanced around the dark but spotless room, though he'd have noticed an inscription when he'd come in.

     "You'll note the lack of an alchemical array etched on my floor," Mustang announced, "and the lack of a hostile alchemist restrained in our holding cells downstairs."

     So that was it. Bloch dropped his forehead to his hand, letting out a tired sigh of a chuckle. "But with Xingese alchemy, the alchemist wouldn't need to be here to target your office. Their system is more friendly to effects at a distance."

     "Precisely," Roy answered.

     Damn the man. Between hints of a high-level traitor leaking intel, Elric's five-month-old rabbit-hole reports, and the evidence Mustang had just filed on the Xingese alchemist responsible for the Northern drought, their head of Security had everything he needed to say he'd told the Council that this might happen. That they'd ignored his warnings and dismissed his work, and that now they ought to give him whatever he needed before worse happened.

     Under the circumstances, they'd have a hard time saying no, even to Mustang.

     The Brigadier General moved to a map of Central on the wall, with a perimeter sketched in red slightly inside the city limits.

     "The alchemist who vacated the site in the Briggs Mountains is definitely capable of an attack at the distance you see here, the range for the weather manipulations in the North. That means he needs to be within the city. In 90% of cases, hostile alchemists live in their workspace, but if not..." Mustang traced a second perimeter, stretching into the hills around the city. "... The hideout would be within this radius, for easy access. My team is bringing every resource we have to bear on finding this person. Until they're found, given the scope and timing of this attack, I consider everyone of rank to be at risk. We must prepare for another attack without delay. As such, I've asked that the ambassadors be shown here as soon as they arrive."

     A shock went around the table as violent as the one that'd hit their offices not long ago. Fieseler dragged himself to his feet, looking ready to throw his chair. Marshal Levochkin, meanwhile, had his eyes open wide and his mouth in a tight line.

     "You're out of order, Mustang," the Marshal said. "Those of us who're actually responsible for foreign policy -- of which you are not one -- have had no time to deliberate."

     Without a blink, the Brigadier took his seat. "Understood, sir. This won't be a discussion of policy -- only of matters critical to the immediate security of our country and of our guests, as I am still in command of Security. If you wish to remove me from that post, I will accept your decision, but this is an abysmal time to do it. Someone is trying to destabilize international relations. I can't think of a more effective means than to assassinate an ambassador."

     Mustang wasn't making any friends today, grabbing the whole mess by the balls, and it wasn't his style to remind everyone that he'd forced their hand. What the hell was going on? One attack by one foreign alchemist shouldn't have spooked the man that much.

     But before Bloch could ask, Captain Hawkeye stepped in, at attention and as formal as could be. "Sir! The Honorable Counsellor Alexei Ilyushin, Ambassador from Drachma!"

     A middle-aged man in dark, civilian clothes barrelled past her.

     "What's the meaning of this?!" the Drachman snarled.

     All the Amestrian officers snapped out of their squabble into diplomatic perfection, although it had no effect on the man's bad mood.

     "Barely off my train, and I'm ordered here, to come see this man?" He glared at Mustang. "This man, who has _mocked and abused_ my countrymen--"

     "Counsellor Ilyushin," Marshal Levochkin broke in. "I recommend that you keep your criticism of Brigadier General Mustang and his treatment of Drachma's soldiers to a minimum, as you received all of them back alive -- despite the fact that they were across our border, in uniform, making war on our people."

     As the Marshal stepped in to defend the man he'd been dressing down two seconds earlier, Bloch saw a hint of realization under the hardened expressions of all the Council members. While they were standing in front of their enemies, former enemies, or potential enemies, Amestris had to present a united front. Any in-fighting the other nations saw here would come across as weakness. Depending on how they all played this round, the Brigadier might win a lot more concessions than the Council would have approved in session.

     Mustang was going to pay for putting them on the spot like that. Bloch didn't know how it'd come down, but no one liked being played, and if Mustang's stunt didn't bring them a red-handed Xingese alchemist, neither Fieseler not Levochkin would think twice about dropping the man in more hot oil than he was already in.

     The ambassador was the only one not to notice the change in the air, flaring his nose over his close-trimmed mustache. "The infamous Flame Alchemist, and his blond hellraiser, too." From the far corner of the table, Elric met the ambassador glare for glare. "I won't negotiate with them. _Drachma_ won't negotiate with them."

     The man's fury was nearly impressive, until the moment he met Mustang's unsmiling face and shrank three inches in every direction like a grape baking down to a raisin.

     The Brigadier General opened his arm toward a chair. "Counsellor Ilyushin. I'm not here to negotiate. My duty is to assure your safety for the duration of your stay. Please, sit, and allow me to promise that you will return to Drachma alive and on schedule. My sincere welcome to Amestris, Your Honor."

     While the man walked to the table with his eyes never leaving Mustang, three more people walked through the door. The girl among them shared a nod with Hawkeye, who let them forward, and an old man in a uniform that matched the girl's announced, "May I present His Serene Highness Prince Ling of the Yao clan, Steward of the Red Mansions, tenth brother to His Imperial Majesty Qi Zhou, Emperor of Xing!"

     The man who stepped forward with his yellow coat fluttering was tall, but young -- maybe no older than Elric -- and didn't have Ilyushin's air of a politician. Little had reached Amestris about Qi Zhou's ascension to the throne after the previous Emperor's death seven years ago, but rumor said more than a score of the Heirs of the Fifty Clans had died in the month they fought over succession. So this was one of the new Emperor's rivals who'd survived and had managed to stay close to the throne instead of rotting in a prison or managing a border province.

     Bloch only knew three reasons why the Emperor would name the prince of a rival clan to an ambassadorship rather than send one of his own. This man didn't look like a fool, so there was little chance the Emperor thought this summit was a fool's errand not worth a good man's time. That meant either that Ling Yao had thrown his weight behind Qi Zhou and had gotten this appointment as reward for loyalty, or that he was dangerous and the Emperor wanted him away and busy but without the resources of a province under his command.

     The chance to leave this whole lot to Major General Saulnier couldn't come fast enough.

     The Prince darted his eyes at the blown lights. "You've got problems, huh?"

     "An honor to make your acquaintance, Your Highness," Roy said, offering another chair. "You and your associates are welcome to Amestris despite the unfortunate circumstances."

     The girl and the old man stood on alert by the wall. In a shuffling of chairs and creaking of knees, four generals, two ambassadors, and Edward Elric took their seats at the table.

     The Xingese man scoffed, "I hope we can make this quick. We had a long train ride once we got to your border, and a man needs to eat."

     "Shall we begin with our introductions, then?" Mustang offered.

     Bloch waved the Brigadier off before he could launch into another round. "What about Creta and Aerugo?"

     Shaking his head, Mustang answered, "The Cretan and Aerugan ambassadors aren't due until tomorrow. I think this matter is urgent enough that our present guests shouldn't wait."

     "Very well. Let's get on with it, then."

     No doubt, Levochkin and Fieseler were just as interested as he was in what, exactly, Roy Mustang planned to tell their political rivals about their classified state secrets.

     "Thank you." Nodding to the ambassadors, Mustang rose to his feet. "Counsellor Ilyushin, Prince Ling. As your escorts may have informed you on the way to my office, I am the Flame Alchemist, Brigadier General Roy Mustang, Head of the Internal Security Office. May I present Marshal Lern Levochkin, General of the Right..." Mustang began, glancing at the old man, who gave a subtle nod. "Lt. General Storch Fieseler, Head of the Regional Affairs Office... The Rubicon Alchemist, Lt. General Mistan Bloch, Director of the State Alchemist Corps..."

     Eyeing the two ambassadors, Bloch couldn't read ass or ears of what they were thinking.

     "And the Fullmetal Alchemist, Mr. Edward Elric, my attaché."

     Prince Ling looked Elric over as if he'd only just noticed him. "The Fullmetal Alchemist? I've heard of you. But I heard you were dead."

     "Nope," Elric answered without so much as sitting up in his seat.

     "I thought you'd be ta--"

     Mustang cleared his throat. "If I may beg your pardon. Gentlemen, His Highness is correct. We have a problem. Shortly before you arrived, Counsellor Ilyushin, Prince Ling, we were attacked by a rogue alchemist. We were able to minimize the damage," the Brigadier claimed, and as always Bloch was in awe of how well Mustang lied through his teeth. "... Limiting the effects to only unshielded electrical systems and preventing all loss of life. The damage you see is easily repaired. However, given the timing, we must assume the attacker's intent is to disrupt the upcoming summit. In the interests of securing both your safety and the successful conclusion of your visits, I'd like to bring you up to speed on what we've learned of this alchemist's methods since the attack occurred, and to brief you on means at our disposal to see that your personal materials cannot be affected."

     "Amestris cooperates and gives information freely?" Ilyushin grunted. "_I don't believe it._"

     Ignoring the interruption, Mustang pointed to a nearby light bulb. "Lightning is a powerful force. Unpredictable and deadly, but with certain manifest characteristics. Our analysis of the damage patterns shows that our attacker has learned to recreate the effects of lightning via transmutation, spread over a wide, targeted area rather than focused on a single random point."

     Not a word about rabbit-holes, wavicles, or any other secrets, Bloch noted, and as long as he was only talking about the effects, the man hadn't even technically told a lie. And because he'd done this in front of three members of the Council, no one could trump up false charges that Mustang had betrayed Amestris's interests. They were all witnesses.

     "To the unprepared, this attack seems to pass through walls without impediment, and gives no sound, sight, or smell as warning. I'm sure your staff are excellent, but I urge you not to put pride before prudence. Mr. Elric, who is among the most skilled researchers in Amestris--"

     Speaking of pride in one's men. Not that Bloch would argue Mustang's assessment.

     "--has led our efforts to neutralize our attacker, and has a means to shield any electronics, magnetic tape recordings, or similar materials in your possession. He can provide you with schematics, but I recommend you let him build the shields himself."

     "Let him in? You mean you wish him to spy on us," Ilyushin spat.

     Elric spat right back, "I won't poke around. I'll just make a Faraday cage for anything you don't want to end up like that," he said, pointing at the exploded light bulbs. "It's up to you."

     Bloch recalled the 'Faraday cage' schematics Elric had made for the rabbit-hole project: wire mesh boxes that blocked electric charge on the outside from reaching the inside. At the time, Bloch had thought they were to prevent anything from interfering with data collection, but this meant they were defensive as well. More than that, if the Council had wanted Amestrian alchemists to duplicate today's attack, Mustang had handed their enemies the means to nullify it. Bloch's men would probably never get the order to develop this. There wouldn't be any point.

     The non-alchemists at the table didn't look too happy about that.

     Steamrolling on, Mustang told the table, "To prevent direct measures, we'll provide additional guards outside your ambassadorial quarters. Inside, I expect you'll want to maintain your own staff without our interference. My full attention is on finding the person responsible. I'll take personal responsibility for securing all research on the forces at work--"

     "Wait a moment," Marshal Levochkin broke in.

     The Brigadier hadn't mentioned rabbit-holes, but all the Councilmen knew what data he'd need and what exactly Mustang was promising: every single file in their wavicle research 'secured' under his control -- away from his theoretical leak. Mustang had balls, effectively revoking the clearances of his superior officers. Levochkin looked even less happy than usual.

     "Please excuse Brigadier General Mustang's enthusiasm. This was as sudden for us as it was for you, and we haven't ironed out the procedural details yet." The old man glared at Mustang. "This is a security department. You're not set up to handle that research."

     "We'll arrange the necessities," Mustang answered, eyebrow up in honest-looking surprise. Not actually honest, Bloch knew. More like a bet about how far Levochkin would go in front of foreign diplomats. "That research is both critical to security and a target for further attack, given that it represents our primary resource beyond Mr. Elric's personal expertise. I hadn't realized that transferring control to my office would be a question. Only until we apprehend the responsible alchemist, of course."

     "That _might_ be more feasible."

     The time limit concession wasn't much, but it was victory enough. The Marshal sat back, probably pondering his next move if Mustang's investigation stretched longer than a week.

     Levochkin turned to the ambassadors. "Rest assured, Brigadier General Mustang's men will take your safety as their top priority."

     The Xingese prince frowned. "I'd like to hear what they've got besides '_Magic lightning_'."

     Mustang looked at Elric, who pushed him a few sheets of paper with a glare. The Brigadier passed one to Counsellor Ilyushin and the other to Prince Ling.

     "What's this supposed to be?" the Prince asked.

     "A lead on our attacker."

     Bloch recognized the transmutation circle drawn on the paper. Not a state secret, but one more thing the Council never would have authorized Mustang to disclose. He was playing the 'Better to Apologize than Ask Permission' gambit for all it was worth.

     "An alchemist with expert training in weather manipulation recently attacked our Northern region with a severe drought. Amestrian soldiers tracked him to his hideout--"

     Another lie, but not one Amestris's leaders would object to.

     "--and though he evaded capture, he had to run before he could erase his work. The timing between that encounter and the attack here, combined with his specialty in meteorological alchemy, makes him our primary suspect. My staff have already created a profile of probable materials he would need to obtain and spaces that would be appropriate to his work so that we can narrow our search. We're confident we'll find him soon. However, if either of you gentlemen has an insight, we would hardly refuse your cooperation. Every second counts."

     The Drachman ambassador looked about ready to boil. "We don't stand on tricks in Drachma. What could I tell you about one of your magic circles?"

     With a shrug, Mustang said, "If your army's invasion was as coordinated with this circle's function as it appeared, you could describe your collaborator. However, if you say the drought was simply synchronicity despite the proof that it was not, in fact, natural--"

     "_I will see you hung_, Mustang."

     Roy Mustang wasn't at all worried for his neck, in Bloch's opinion, and the young Prince looked like he was trying to decide if this was the best Drachma could send. A moment later, he glanced back at the array in front of him.

     "You're asking me because it's Xingese."

     "I'm glad you agree."

     "Because I passed your test? You think I'd only tell you if Xing hadn't sent this person?"

     "Because that means my men haven't wasted their work. I'd prefer to assume that Xing won't do anything so rash as endanger these talks and spark a war against Amestris."

     The '_and me_' was implied.

     Mustang slipped his copy of the array into his other papers. "An expert alchemist's work is distinctive. Can you identify the person responsible based on this design?"

     In the next few seconds of silence, the Prince didn't glance at the array once. He studied Mustang for a moment, then glanced at Bloch and the other members of the Council. Finally, he pushed the array into the center of the table and addressed Marshal Levochkin.

     "I won't discuss that chance, nor the details of any information, until I have an agreement from your government that any Xingese citizen accused of these crimes will be apprehended alive and extradited to Xing to stand trial."

     Standard posturing, Bloch wondered, or an attempt to get his countryman back to a court that wouldn't consider his actions a crime? Bloch had fielded hundreds of prisoner extradition requests from Aerugo while he'd been stationed in the south, but Xing couldn't have the same objections to Amestrian justice. From what he'd heard, they had just as many executions.

     It wouldn't matter anyway, not for an alchemist who'd attacked Headquarters. Marshal Levochkin shook his head. "We're not negotiating extradition until he's in custody."

     "That's the condition for my help," the Xingese man said.

     "I'm satisfied that the Brigadier General has this situation in hand, Your Highness."

     Before either could speak again, Mustang cut in. "And whatever concerns you may have, my staff is trained to bring in suspects alive. No one under my command considers themselves to be judge or executioner."

     The Prince glanced around the table one more time, then took back the array. He held the paper up as the girl from his retinue stepped forward to take it.

     "I'll keep this diagram for study, but I make no promise to cooperate with your investigation until I'm satisfied with how my countryman's case will be handled. That's all."

     "Is this farce ended now?" the Drachman ambassador snarled, shooting to his feet. "I have arrangements to make with my staff." He threw a look at Elric. "Which will not require the kind assistance of the Fullmetal Alchemist."

     "You're welcome," the blond growled.

     Fieseler eyed Mustang with a simmering glare. "Well, Brigadier General? Does that satisfy your concerns as the head of Security?"

     "Quite." Mustang stood up and faced the ambassadors. "Counsellor Ilyushin, Prince Ling, it was an honor to make your acquaintance. I hope next time we meet, it will be in more favorable circumstances. Your escorts are waiting in the hall to show you to your residences."

     They shared a round of bows, and the dignitaries paraded toward the hallway.

     Levochkin waited for them to leave, then hit Mustang with a hard-eyed glare.

     "Don't push your luck any further than you already have, Brigadier General. You've used enough for one lifetime." With that, he walked and Fieseler stumped toward the door.

     Bloch was sure Mustang had a reason for staging this dog and pony show to bully them into accepting his demands. One thing that man always had was _reasons_. Whether that reason was going to save him from the backlash of what he'd just done depended on how the next few days went. Some things, Bloch would swallow his pride for. This didn't look like one of them. Taking his time, he paced toward the outer office full of Mustang's bustling staff.

     The Brigadier intercepted him before he could reach the exit. "If you have a moment, Lt. General, there's one more thing I'd like to discuss."

     He narrowed his eyes at Mustang, then looked back toward the door. Fieseler and Levochkin were gone by now, but most of Mustang's people had slipped out unnoticed, too. Captain Hawkeye was the only one left, sorting papers at her desk. That was one way to make a man feel like a rat in a trap. Or like Brigadier General Mustang had set his hounds on foxes.

     Turning back to the Brigadier, he said, "I hope to hell you're planning to tell me the truth now. I've had my fill of rubbish and lies." He looked at Elric in the corner, straight in the eyes. The boy didn't flinch. "From both of you. I've read your reports and listened to you answer questions for months -- and I could have sworn that rabbit-hole was as real as a horse doing square roots. After that invasion mess three years ago, I sympathize with you not wanting anybody to know how to open paths between dimensions -- I do. But this is different."

     Pursing his mouth, the Flame Alchemist leaned against the front of his desk. "You're aware that Edward and I have been engaged on a research project for some months." Bloch nodded. "It applies many of the principles that went into those rabbit-hole papers. However they looked, the science behind them was based on actionable facts."

     "I don't like where this is going, Mustang."

     Although the anguish on the Brigadier's face, quickly hidden behind closed eyes but remarkable to see on that face at all, didn't look like guilt over an experiment gone wrong. Glancing where Mustang had been looking, he saw Elric -- walking to a side table with some books and a scowl. His right arm hung limp and his left leg dragged: signs of dead automail. Seeing your friends hurt was hard, certainly, but even if their work had caused this, that was no excuse for Mustang losing his head in a crisis.

     Maybe the bastard hadn't entirely been lying when he claimed he'd made Elric a civilian because he couldn't be objective about that boy. Who would've believed he respected the chain of command enough for that? But then, Roy Mustang was a soldier as well as an alchemist.

     "When this electromagnetic pulse went off, Edward was racing here..."

     Bloch turned to see Mustang pointing at the floor.

     "... to report that someone had broken into my house and stolen several prototype circles from our recent notes. I've told the police nothing was missing. I'm sure the Council won't want anyone aware that a State Alchemist's work was the basis for today's attack."

     Gritting his teeth, he wondered how to be sure the slippery Brigadier General was being sincere now. True enough, the Council wouldn't want that. But the Council should have made that decision, with full knowledge of the truth. Hiding it from them wasn't Mustang's right.

     "That science could turn junk heaps into enough energy to power the country. It could revolutionize communications." He gestured at the darkened room. "It can also do things I, quite frankly, never want this country to know Edward is capable of. I won't condemn him to that."

     Put in those terms, Bloch would've done the same. He'd seen too many alchemists with murder on their shoulders. And Mustang... Who had more _right_ to make that call? Maybe not as an officer, but as a man. Bloch had a sour taste in his mouth as the Brigadier finished.

     "The Xingese alchemist is real. The threat is real. Our need to stop him is real."

     Said in the same convincing tone as his lies. It should've been hard to trust, but at the corner of his eye was Elric's face, who thought nobody could see him. Watching Mustang confess, the boy looked as pained as Mustang had been when Edward had tried walking.

     Bloch gave up.

     "You told the Council you suspected one of us. I doubt you'd steal the rabbit-hole project if you didn't see a connection. So is it Fieseler or Levochkin?" He tilted his head. "Or me?"

     Drumming his fingers on the desk, Mustang hesitated a moment. "In my professional opinion, it's better you not know who I suspect. Do you mean to make that question an order?"

     He weighed the thirst to know against the image of a target on his back and on Lucy's.

     "No. Married men shouldn't dabble in espionage for the sake of curiosity."

     "Thank you."

     After a long silence, he turned to Edward, who couldn't hide his thoughts like Mustang but covered his hurt better than Bloch had credited him for.

     "Tell me one thing," Bloch said. "Is there a rabbit-hole? Does that phenomenon exist?"

     The blond looked to Mustang for permission to talk. Once he had it, he spoke with undramatic frankness. "Literally, no. Metaphorically, yes."

     Bloch narrowed his eyes. "Explain that."

     "I was the rabbit-hole," he clarified. "My displacement into the Earth dimension made the tunnel. Once I figured out how to get myself back, the displacement disappeared."

     "You realize you're telling me you lied to the Council. Twice."

     Edward didn't flinch. If anything, he looked more than ever like Izumi Curtis's student.

     "I don't trust that uniform. I trust him," he said, nodding at Mustang. "I want to trust you."

     Bloch doubted he'd ever know if it'd been Mustang's plan to tell him all this, or if Edward had insisted, and he doubted it mattered to either the Fullmetal or Flame Alchemists. He turned one last glare on the Brigadier General.

     "You want the rabbit-hole project? Well, when you're done with that damn thing, I want you to shut it down. I'd rather my men stop wasting their time on a wild goose chase."

     "Done."

     "And get me a list of combat effects for your stolen arrays, along with any measures you advise we take to protect ourselves."

     "It'll be in your hands before the end of the day."

     Bloch turned for the door, pausing to look over his shoulder. "The Marshal was right, Mustang. You have used up enough luck for one lifetime."

~//~

     The sun had set and twilight was darkening over the horizon by the time Ed reached his front door. He shoved his key into the lock, walked in, and turned on the light. It worked out here, like the reports had said. Maybe he could get through to Winry after all.

     It'd only taken two hours to limp home, since he wasn't fucking going to sit there and let Roy offer him a ride in the car because he didn't need to sit anything out. And he didn't need the stupid jacket Roy bought, even if the walk had gotten cold. And he didn't want to spend one more minute with Roy not looking him in the eye, acting like he'd had no choice but to tell Bloch more than anyone was supposed to know. Roy Mustang, the man who'd told him _how many times_ that the only way to keep a secret was to keep it to yourself?

     He hadn't meant to spend the whole two hours thinking about how what he'd done might have meant Roy really did have no choice. How maybe he shouldn't have left as soon as Roy took their list off to Bloch, to pay for a favor he'd all but forced the Colonel to beg for. Maybe Roy deserved to hear him say he was sorry.

     But he couldn't stand waiting in that empty, darkening room to say goodbye.

     Well, he was home now. Too late for any of that.

     He lurched over to the telephone, but there was no dial tone, just dead air. Their intel said only lines in the city had been affected, but it wasn't like he could verify that with his own eyes. He hadn't meant for that blast to go further than their office. The power scale had been completely out of line with what he'd had in his head. For all he knew, he'd killed an entire nation's communications lines with one clap of his hands. Because he'd had a whim to junk those damn bugs, because he couldn't remember Roy's stupid code when the situation heated up. The entire Drachman army hadn't done that much damage in all the months they'd tried.

     Maybe all those Generals who called him a loose cannon had the tiniest modicum of a shade of a point. Maybe he really would hop the first train to Resembool. He couldn't call Winry, and what was the point of going back to the office? He wasn't any fucking good with his automail busted, now was he? Roy'd made that clear enough.

     '_Find a chair._'

     Ed rubbed a wet spot off his eye. It was sweat from walking while dragging his leg, he told himself. That was hard work.

     Something brushed up against his legs, and he looked down. Boots, running his big, dark, cat forehead into Ed's left shin, then looking up with a green-eyed stare. "Mrrow!" he wailed like an off-key, rusted swing set. When Ed didn't answer, he stood on his back legs with his paws on Ed's thigh, leaning his head in when Ed scratched behind his ears.

     "At least you still like me, Cat."

     The doorbell rang through the house, sending Boots and both other cats chasing across the floor to hide behind the couch. Ed scowled at the door. He could just imagine Roy's face on the other side. The bastard _would_ come out just to tell him he was an idiot for walking.

     "Nobody's home!" Ed yelled.

     The doorknob turned anyway, and the hinge creaked open. But the pissed-off face on the other side didn't belong to Roy Mustang. Ed wiped a few more wet spots he admitted were tears. A streak of relief had mixed into the feelings churning in his gut, and crying when he was happy was just fine.

     "God... Winry. How are you even here? I was just trying to call you," he said, pushing to get the words past his tight throat. "But I kinda broke the phones."

     She dropped her repair case inside and slammed the door. He let her hug him tight, resting his forehead on her shoulder. "Al called me from up North," Winry scolded, "and said you'd either done something stupid, or you were about to. '_Or both!_' I told him. That's always an option. Then I got the first train I could."

     So places outside of Central did have phones. Ed started cackling, feeling that weight coming off his shoulders. Winry, meanwhile, pushed him to the nearest chair, propping his arm on an endtable and his leg on a footrest.

     "I've got to say, _this_ is an Elric moment I'm taking home for the scrapbook. Did you actually manage to carbonize the entire Central City telephone system?"

     "... Not on purpose?"

     He'd have to learn how telephone wiring worked and how the city schematics went to help reconstruct the system so it didn't take months. Even if nobody ever found out he'd done it, he owed people that much.

     A snarl rumbled out of Winry's throat as she popped the plates off his arm. "Seriously, Ed? Every time I build better automail that I think I've got goof-proofed, you find brand, spanking new ways to break things!"

     With a wince, he felt the strain and the sudden lightness of her decoupling his arm from his shoulder. "Not on purpose," he muttered again, softer this time.

     "Well, I guess I can forgive you since it means I've always got the absolute cutting edge of automail technology coming out of my workshop. No choice but to innovate." She detached his leg at the knee next, and Ed saw himself broken into pieces -- a man partway erased, waiting for the help he needed to walk on his own. He couldn't do it all as much as he wanted to.

     Winry cleared her throat, sliding colored wire out of the metal and carbon arm she'd built.

     "So. Yelling at you forever is boring. Why don't you tell me something else that happened today? Something that doesn't suck."

     Ed managed a laugh. What could he tell her? That someone had stolen his world-might-go-boom arrays? That he'd spent hours dreaming up everything that could go wrong, from all matter exploding, to localized gravitational fields that'd crush a person easier than he could smash an egg, to their non-alchemist mastermind turning their primary force array into an on-switch for any other array? Someone who hadn't studied alchemy, laying hands on that power... That'd be like a scared bunny bringing a chainsaw to a knife fight.

     What if he'd been wrong, and the jackass who'd hired the Xingese alchemist had been after that, not the rabbit-hole? His whole fabulous idea would fizzle, and with it every reason why Roy had leveraged his reputation to cover Ed's mistakes. Perfecter and perfecter.

     Yeah. His day had definitely been crap. Better to talk about other people.

     "Well. When I said I was gonna call you, Capt. Havoc asked if you were gonna stop by the office. I think he likes you." Ed shrugged at Winry's cocked eyebrow. "What? He's an all right guy. Has his shit together, unlike me."

     "_Edward Elric_, are you trying to set me up with your co-worker? _You?_ Since when do you even notice things like that?"

     "Hey, nobody's gonna twist your arm."

     "Uh-huh. Grab my 2-millimeter flathead?" He fished it out of the case she'd laid by his hip and handed it over. "Thanks. Now, did it hurt through the top or bottom of your shoulder?"

     "Both," he answered, eyes locked on the bare corner where two flat walls met the ceiling.

     "_Fab_-ulous. And what color is Roy Mustang's bedspread?"

     "Dark red," he muttered. After two blinks, he whipped around. "Wait. _What?!_"

     She pointed the 2-millimeter flathead straight at his nose. "I _knew_ it. Honestly! Al could have called me to say you two had hooked up even if you never would!"

     He smiled despite himself. "He can't tell you what he hasn't figured out." The evil snicker sneaking out of his mouth was beyond his control. Really. "You're not gonna spill, right?"

     "Oh, right. Because keeping everybody guessing is so mature." Rolling her eyes she went back to loosening the precision screws around the wire path. "Whatever, though," Winry added with a giggle. "They deserve it."

     "... Yeah."

     Ed raked his bangs backward and dropped his hand down his neck. Images of Roy making tea or frying eggs or taking a nap mixed in his head with memories of Roy ignoring him in the office, or being too formal, or getting into a blistering pissing match. Was he supposed to go over to Roy's house any more? Were they still going to be working together, even if they might not _be together_? Did their nights trump legitimate anger over widespread accidental destruction? Stupid as it was to wish for, it'd be nice for Roy show up and tell him what the etiquette was for whatever they were doing right now. But he couldn't worry about that. They had a world to save.

     With a wince, he noticed Winry was staring at him again.

     Ed tried to swallow down the thick feeling in his throat. "There may not be anything for them to find out much longer. I fucked up pretty bad. He's right to be pissed at me."

     A smack hit his forehead, the sting fading as Winry groaned. "Al and Riza both promised me he was serious, so I don't want to hear anything about calling it quits over your first big fight. You can't possibly have fucked up that bad."

     "_I blew up Central Command_, Winry! Because of me, the telephone operators are out of a job, so the police have them couriering messages on street corners -- _because of me!_"

     He choked back a crack in his voice. Sounding calm was better. Not hysterical.

     "Nobody died. There's that. But he's been telling me... Keep on your game or stay off the field. And what do I do? I get careless, and I blast the city back to the middle ages, and I stick him with a mess I can't clean up. How could he keep somebody around who screws up life for everybody, just by accident, a hundred times worse than the bad guys have managed?"

     She twisted out another screw and laid it in an orderly line on the table with the others. "I heard people are adjusting pretty well. Lots of sales on all those two-way radios you didn't hit."

     "You know what I mean."

     "Fine! So you fucked up!"

     A wire came out of his arm, burned and useless, and she set it on the table. The channel that came out next went next to the toolbox. Winry never stopped scowling.

     "You can be as sorry as you want, and do whatever you can to make it right. But stop using everything you've decided Roy Mustang thinks about it to beat yourself up. Now, I won't pretend like I'm friends with your tootsie pop myself," she said, scanning the fibers next to the wire for damage. "... But if he's the man you all act like he is, he's probably itching for you to let him forgive you and call this a mistake you'll never make again. I mean, seriously? Phone lines are the end of the world, because _you_ did it? If your 'bad guys' had done this, you'd probably spit in their eye and tell 'em to try again in a hundred years."

     The world turned still as he sat, watching her strip busted pieces out of his automail. They might be here all night, he knew, but all the tiredness in his body was starting to dissolve.

     He couldn't make himself think she was wrong. But still.

     "Roy was fucking pissed," Ed told her, shaking his head. "And '_sorry_' doesn't cover this."

     "I'd be pissed, too, Ed. If you did something you should've known would hurt _yourself_, right in front of my eyes, like you didn't give a damn..."

     Winry looked straight at him, and he clenched his left hand. His right wasn't there to clench, reminding him how he missed the feeling of steel-plated fingers clinking into his palm when his automail was gone.

     He felt more calm, somehow, as Winry said, "If I saw that, I think I'd knock you into next week. Because I love you. Now hand me the wire crimper."

     Ed fished the wrench-handled device out of the box and handed it over without a word. He waited for the strange jelly-feeling in his chest to subside before he spoke.

     "How's Granny Pinako doing?" he croaked.

     "She's fine. You could come see her if you ever finish all this government mayhem you're caught up in."

     The idea of visiting Resembool felt a lot better when he wasn't thinking about running back to bury his head in a hole. Ed fought the urge to twitch as his disconnected nerves fired into his brain like itches he couldn't scratch, and he halfway smiled at the wall.

     "... Maybe I will."

~//~

     They'd gotten through yesterday, Roy reminded himself once more. They'd get through today, one task at a time. Then tomorrow would come. And by whatever miracle, Ed's mechanic had found him, so Roy found his mind less at war between what he wanted to do and what had to be done. He hadn't had words for his relief when his lover stomped in at the usual hour and grunted that he wouldn't do _that_ again until he found a way to control the field.

     Roy could have kissed him, if he hadn't been hedged in by paperwork and so sure of being punched.

     His staff went about their work inside his office, where light streamed in from the windows. Roy wanted to keep repair workers out of their rooms until there was less confusion, and he couldn't ask Edward to do it. Fullmetal had better things to think about than basic repairs.

     The blond had made a kind of seat out of the shelf under the far window -- after throwing on the jacket he'd left behind last night, saying he supposed it was good to have after all, to guard against the chill of the glass. One book was propped on his bent left knee, where he turned pages every few seconds, more books by his outstretched right foot, and his notes hovered by his hip where he scribbled without bothering to give the lines he wrote more than a passing frown. His ponytail hung down over his shoulder, sunlight shining through the fringe of his bangs so they looked like the translucent gold of a poplar forest in the fall.

     Roy pointed his eyes back at the report on his desk before he got distracted by the dappled shadows on Edward's throat. He had promises to keep, Ed had work to do, and after how badly he'd handled Ed's accident yesterday, Roy doubted his punishment for staring would stop with a balled-up piece of paper lobbed at his head. He'd find a way to apologize for that, once they could talk alone for five minutes.

     The report, alas, wasn't as distracting as it could have been. No signs of a panicked communique to or from any of the Generals after the news about the stunt they'd pulled with the rabbit-hole had burned through official channels as well as the Central Command gossip mill. Their mastermind was being careful. Hopefully, Ed was right about him or her wanting something in this research badly enough to lose their head. If not, there were still leads on the new alchemist in town. They'd get the evidence one way or the other.

     "Brigadier General, we have the last filing cabinets." Hawkeye came in, leading Junkers and Heinkel from the Eastern Liaison's office, each wheeling a locked filing cabinet on a dolly. "Shall we put them with the others?"

     "Fullmetal?"

     "The corner's fine. Thanks. You want this priority schedule before lunch, Roy?"

     Ed had sworn he'd see every line of communication redirected and every single piece of paper delivered without mishap by the end of the day. That research would be wiped clean from the rest of the building. The tenacity and brutal efficiency his blond could muster when he was performing at his best would put the clockwork of the heavens to shame.

     Roy tried to stop an inappropriate grin. "Lunch ended half an hour ago, Ed."

     "What?!" Blond hair whipped out as he spun, hand paused in the middle of a page turn.

     "I thought you knew. And you looked so productive, I couldn't bear to interrupt."

     As his lover growled, eyebrow twitching, Roy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He'd have to give the friendly needling a rest until he could be sure Ed heard it as friendly.

     He picked up the phone with a pained grin. "I'll order you some take-out."

     From the door, a girl's voice called out, "That won't be necessary."

     Miss Hawker. She'd managed to find a plain, white shirt to go with dark red slacks, and was holding a pale, wooden lunchbox. A feeling like his life flashing before his eyes, but more quiet and surreal, filled Roy's head with images of the intern employing some kind of clairvoyance to determine that he and Ed and been fighting, whereupon she decided to swoop in and press her case. That, he was sure, couldn't be true, but petty jealousy that she'd managed to beat him at providing lunch filled his mind next, followed hard by a thousand images of Edward swearing vengeance for Roy once again making him a target for the girl's affections. Roy couldn't claim he'd aged a lifetime in that half a breath, but perhaps he'd aged a year.

     The girl, meanwhile, passed the threshold. "Besides, I think the phones are still out."

     Sure enough, there was no dial tone next to Roy's ear. He'd forgotten. At least Fullmetal didn't seem to mind. If Ed had interpreted that as a joke at his expense, he'd have been enraged.

     Today was still better than yesterday.

     "Katya? What are you doing here?"

     The girl walked over to Edward's window and set the lunchbox by his hand. "When you weren't around at lunch, I figured you'd forgotten to eat. Marshal Levochkin was going crazy over how much work was moving over here, you know. Anyway, I took fifteen minutes to go home and throw together some leftovers. It's not much, but there's no milk in the sauce."

     "Thanks. This is a big help."

     Roy wouldn't let himself be distracted by feeling like the intern had shown him up. He wouldn't. But neither did he turn away when Ed looked over his shoulder to face him. In all his life, he'd never flinched. Now was hardly the time to start.

     Unlooked for, a hint of a smile cracked the grit of Ed's jaw.

     "Thank you," he mouthed silently, straight at Roy.

     His own hint of a smile answered Ed's. When he went back to his papers, he stared for two seconds before he found the line where he'd been. It smelled like chicken with rosemary potatoes in the lunchbox. Roy wasn't a lunch man by preference -- certainly nothing from the cafeteria kitchens -- but he might have to steal a bite before Ed ate it all.

     Sweeping closer to the center of the room, Miss Hawker clapped her hands to her mouth. "Oh! While I'm here, the calendar committee picked the date for your photoshoot -- next Wednesday at three. The photographer from the newspaper agreed to step in, since Miss de Havilland's camera was destroyed. They'll take your pictures at the same time, so let us know if either of you have a conflict!"

     "We're doing what, now?" Edward grunted, frozen in the middle of stabbing a potato.

     "Oh, well, normally they'd be done separately, but the committee couldn't decide which of you to put on the cover," the girl explained, not minding the incomprehension dripping off of Edward's face in ever greater degrees. "Then would you believe it? The _Fuhrer_ walked in, and he asked why we didn't just put you on the cover together! Everyone loved the idea."

     Despite their work, his staff found time to snicker as Ed sputtered.

     "Wh... Wha... What calendar is this?"

     "Well... the Men of the Military charity calendar. Didn't you read the memo?"

     "But that's the beefcake pin-up calendar!" He flushed fiery red as he turned on Roy, who smiled back unapologetically. "I thought that invite was for you!"

     "And for you," Roy answered.

     Technically, he'd asked for assent before he'd replied on Edward's behalf, but he wasn't surprised the blond didn't remember. He got tunnel vision when defining topological vector spaces, and tended to answer all questions with, '_Fine! Whatever!_'

     Roy couldn't help his grin. "I'm September, and you're August. You'll do fine, Ed. Besides, it's a good cause. All the proceeds go to support widows and orphans." Their arguments falling back into the proper, congenial tone was more of a relief than he'd expected.

     "_But who would want a pin-up calendar with me on it?!_"

     Hawkeye looked over from the filing cabinets to mouth, "_I warned you_," at him.

     She had. She'd been right. He'd made his choices knowingly.

     With a blink, Miss Hawker, squeaked, "... Everyone? All the girls had you in their nominations, Edward. And ... I .... I promise the pictures will be tasteful? Whatever the Brigadier General may have told you, we won't ask you to be naked."

     Red faded to bloodless pale as Ed craned his head towards Roy's desk, possibly hoping this was all an elaborate prank. It wouldn't help, Roy decided, to tell him that the photographer could have taken a picture of him in the window as he had been a minute ago and called those leather-clad legs and disheveled cuffs the highlight of any pin-up calendar he'd ever seen.

     Instead, Roy chuckled and said, "You're a sex symbol, Ed. _Deal with it._"

     Ed threw him a frown. "Fine. But I don't want to hear complaints later about how the pictures aren't good enough. I'm warning you now, I'm not that photogenic."

     "Oh, they'll be action shots of you at work!" the girl answered, on her toes in excitement. "You probably won't even notice when the photographer's around!"

     "I'll warn you when you need to put any classified material out of sight," Roy added, walking over to nab the bite of chicken he'd had his eye on.

     Ed pulled the lunchbox out of Roy's reach and stuck his fork in another potato. Then he let it sit there, dropping his hand back to brush it against Roy's.

     "Sounds like a plan. Now if we're done with everybody needing their eyes checked, I've got to finish this and do some intensive cross referencing." It looked like he already had a framework outlined for the rabbit-hole project, as well as notes on who'd worked with which data. Not bad for a morning's work with files that were only almost complete.

     Hearing the girl head toward the hallway, Roy glanced up. "Miss Hawker. Edward's been so busy, he may not have had a chance to tell you -- I can't spare him. I'll have to ask you to delay the paper you're writing now until after this project."

     Edward nearly dropped his book.

     "All right." the intern sighed. "I'll see you at the University next month for the Q and A!"

     Ed's face puzzled up for a moment before he turned to Roy and scowled. "I'm sure I will." As soon as Miss Hawker left, he aimed a playful elbow at Roy's ribs. "It's not enough making me write those papers? Now you're signing me up for University seminars, too?"

     "You did promise this operation would have fast results. You should be free next month."

     Roy opted not to mention that Ed wouldn't be in the audience. He was still trying to find the perfect way to explain that part.

~//~

     Two days into this ambassador gig, Ling wanted to declare diplomacy the most boring pursuit in the world. They hadn't had real talks about anything of substance, just a day of moving into his home-away-from-home here in Central, Amestris, then a day of trying not to get drunk at the grand welcome gala so he wouldn't be hungover at today's salon concert (where people cared more about weaseling out everyone else's secret agenda than about music). Tomorrow, they'd finally have a meeting to propose preliminary agenda items.

     Then Drachma was throwing a party.

     Apparently, he was supposed to throw a party in the name of Xing, too, or risk coming off as an unsociable asshole who didn't play well with others (as opposed to a stuck-up asshole who wanted everybody to know exactly how nice his wine cellar was). His aide was planning the menu and pricing the sundries in town. It gave him time to stretch out on the cushy rug in his parlor and think about the things that mattered.

     All those years ago, he'd wanted to come to Amestris, before his half-brother assassinated their father and left Ling tied to home if he wanted his clan to survive. Meanwhile, the rumors that Amestrian alchemy held the secret to immortality had turned into rumors that Amestris had found a way to kill immortals -- if you could call them that anymore. He hadn't thought there was any reason left to come, except the reasons his brother had.

     But maybe there was a reason after all. With the Emperor's best battle alchemist nowhere to be seen in almost a year, and Amestris fighting off a Xingese alchemist, it all fit. A copy of the Flame Alchemist's sketch was with a hawk on its way back to Xing for safekeeping -- Mei Chang could certify whose work it was, and none of the Emperor's men would look for his secrets in another clan's house. Mei's answer wouldn't get back before this summit ended, but Ling was sure enough without it. Mustang had said their attacker used weather alchemy. Liu Zhou, the Emperor's missing man, had made his name on storms and biting winds.

     If he were captured picking a fight with Amestris and failing, it'd disgrace the Zhou. If Ling could tie that back to Qi Zhou himself, and do it right, he could topple his brother from the throne. The first step was to keep Amestris from killing the asshole so Qi Zhou couldn't use that as a reason to go to war, and then Ling might just live to see an empire where people could work for a decent wage and talk without being worried the police would drag them away.

     But what about those Amestrian types? Mustang talked a good line, but even across the desert, people knew the Flame Alchemist -- and not for his conspicuous mercy. And then the one they called the Fullmetal Alchemist... God only knew what he was. The stories about him that'd reached Xing must've been stretched beyond all belief. They sounded more like ancient myths of apotheosis -- transmuting with nothing but his hands (one of them 'living metal'), the aforementioned killing of immortals, soaring through the sky with armies from other worlds.

     Crazy stuff. He didn't seem like anything special in person. Quiet, moody, blond. Although if he was the same Edward Elric who'd written those papers Lan Fan had found in town (and that seemed to check out), he might be smarter than he looked. Ling had a mind to smuggle those treatises back to Xing. Emperors had to set tax rates, too. And if Elric lived up to his words when he showed up for his appointment, he might be a decent ally.

     The knocker struck the front door three times, even though the doorbell worked.

     Ling heard Fu answer it, and a voice from the entrance said, "I'm Edward Elric. The Prince asked for me?"

     The alchemist's footsteps sounded uneven as he followed Fu in, but he walked with his weight forward on his feet, like a fighter. He had a wide stance like a fighter, too, as he stopped by the side of the rug and leaned over to look Ling in the eyes, a heavy-looking package in his right hand. His grin didn't look like a threat, though.

     Ling pointed a finger at him. "Let me guess. You're thinking, '_Am I supposed to call him Your Highness when he's lying on the floor?_' You can say it."

     The blond shrugged. "You already did." All business, he glanced around the parlor. "Where's the stuff?"

     "In back. Call me Ling," he said, thrusting up a hand.

     Elric clapped his gloved left hand against Ling's palm -- a flesh and bone hand. The metal arm would have to be the right if it was real, so he'd want to dodge a right hook instead of blocking it. "You've met Fu and Lan Fan."

     "I'm Edward Elric. And I'm not supposed to touch your stuff without you watching, so if this is a bad time, I can come back."

     "Right." Ling swept his legs up, swinging his weight onto his shoulders and launching himself upright. While he brushed off his sleeves, he smirked at the unimpressed look on the Amestrian's face. "Now you're thinking, '_Look who's such a show-off!_' Am I right?"

     "Let's just get this done."

     Tough nut. Getting him to talk about the investigation or his superiors might not be easy.

     Signaling his guards, Ling led their guest back to their pile of anything he thought might explode -- plus the rubber duck toy he'd found in a shop window on the way into town, a sandwich, and the lute he'd brought from Xing.

     The duck was the first thing Elric grabbed, handing it back over to Ling. "That's fine. Are you hiding wires in your food?" he asked, poking the sandwich.

     "Nope."

     The alchemist studied object after object in silence -- setting tape recorders and radios over on the left side of the table, and things like the lute and gear-operated watches on the right.

     "You're not going to ask if I've got information on that array you found?"

     "If you've got anything, you should give it to Roy in his office, with witnesses so nobody thinks you're pulling something sneaky."

     The alchemist pulled a solid metal bar -- one of several, from the clank Ling heard -- from the bag he'd been carrying. He set it on the table next to a radio, and clapped. When he touched the bar, filigreed wires rose up and surrounded the radio in a mesh. There was a door with a hinge large enough to extract the device without issue, and Ling was pretty sure the ridge of wire around the top molded into a flame-shaped border was just decoration, but he was more interested that the stories about transmuting without a circle were true.

     And that he called the head of Security 'Roy' in front of a visiting dignitary on an official visit. Not somebody who respected authority, although the essays Lan Fan had brought him looked like he understood power and responsibility. If he deferred to Mustang, that might be a point in the Flame Alchemist's favor.

     "So," Ling tried next. "What's your boss like?"

     Elric didn't look away from the next gadget in his pile. "You met him. He's like he is."

     "If I did have information -- theoretically -- could I trust him?"

     "Yes," the blond answered, no hesitation at all. "Any other questions?"

     "Did you really go to another world, or was that bullshit?"

     "That's classified."

     He clapped, and a block of metal turned into a box with a latched lid for the reels of audio tape Ling had told Fu to buy to see if Elric would try listening to it. The blond didn't even take an inch off the reels. He didn't pocket anything, either, or show any signs of having a camera or a recording device. He ticked through the table like he had somewhere to be, no sign of 'poking around' like he'd promised he wouldn't do.

     But lots of people could act trustworthy without being trustworthy.

     The blond scowled at the ceiling. "I guess I'll get the lights while I'm here. The circuits in the ceilings and the walls need to be shielded. Five minutes, then I'll be out of your hair."

     Painting a smile on his face, Ling tossed the rubber duck, caught it and tossed it again. "What if I said I wanted my people there when you go after your suspect? To satisfy Xing that nothing untoward happens to one of our nationals?"

     "Like I said, talk to Roy. That's not my call."

     Ling didn't expect Amestrian policy to allow it, not by a long shot, but clearly this kid had orders not to talk off the record. Everything he knew about Amestrian politics had sounded like they'd try to weasel what they wanted with an underhanded deal. But this was either straight dealing or one hell of an act. Although, Ling mused, Elric really did look like a kid, for all he was some big shot five to six years back and allowed to sit at the grown-ups table. Ling knew why he was there: being royalty had perks. But power in Amestris came from military seniority.

     "How old are you, anyway?" he asked.

     That got a reaction -- eyes blazing, lips snarling, fingers pointing as Elric lunged, only to have Fu and Lan Fan jump in front of him. Perfect as always.

     "_That!_ Is _extra_ classified! Who even needs to know?! How old are _you_, huh?!"

     So, the cool, trustworthy face probably wasn't an act.

     Good. If that was what kind of person got the respect of the head of Security (and vice versa), he could assume Mustang would keep his promise that arresting officers wouldn't shoot to kill. He needed to get that alchemist home, not let some incident give Qi Zhou an excuse to go to war and declare Liu Zhou a hero.

     "I'm twenty-one," Ling answered, dropping the rubber duck on the table. "Lan Fan, Fu. You can stand down."

     They backed off, and Elric straightened his collar. The blond muttered, "Older than you, then," and clapped his hands. A towering mass of wires rose toward the light fixture on the ceiling, where they phased through the plaster like it was air, presumably lacing around the circuits running through the house.

     Ling let out a low whistle. Not someone he wanted to underestimate.

~//~

     The water beat Ed's shoulders while Roy _washed his hair_.

     Whatever made him happy. Ed wasn't going to argue over something as stupid as who scrubbed his hair clean. Besides, it felt nice. As long as he didn't overstay his mechanic-approved five minutes, and as long as he could oil his automail right after, he could compromise on showers being an entirely utility occupation.

     The he remembered what he'd meant to say once they'd gotten to his place, away from potentially prying ears, before they'd walked in the door and Roy had changed the subject.

     "You were right. That Ling guy was testing me."

     His visit to the ambassador had been the only calm spot in a day of running around, interviewing people, making sure there was nowhere to get information on the rabbit-hole except straight from him. A freaking intellectual Thermopylae, not that anybody would know what he meant if he mentioned Sparta. But getting the princeling to play ball -- not try something unpredictable -- was at least as important.

     "Did I pass?"

     "You must have. His delegation stopped by my office. I might have entertained his petition to assist, but at _someone's_ advice he'd made his request through the Council." Roy's fingers raked Ed's hair down his back. "Marshal Wright, Major General Defiant, and Major General Saulnier were all present to see I didn't overstep my bounds, and they certainly felt that including our guests in the investigation would have counted, even though his delegation has the only chance of recognizing the alchemist in a crowd."

     "So you think he knows something?"

     Roy turned off the water and held him around the waist, making Ed's nerves start singing again. "Five minutes. And you've got another long day tomorrow. The rest can wait."

     "You and your need for sleep."

     "When this is over, I _will_ take you out for that week on a whitewater river, and I'll show you how much sleep I don't need."

     Ed grabbed the towel as he stepped out. He hid his grin, but he couldn't disguise his voice. "Promises, promises. I'll believe this job is over when I see it."

~//~

     That dig about not using enough power had been deliberate. And with Mustang's people watching him day and night -- for a week since that damn meeting, not even trying to hide it! -- there was no way to get a message to the man the Xingese Emperor had sent and find out what in hell he'd done! On top of everything, now he'd have to kill the foreign diplomats before they could get Elric's defense systems back to their countries. He'd have no choice.

     Damn Mustang. He'd been behind every move this country had taken toward weakness. The Drachman invasion should have convinced the government to remilitarize, to impose discipline, and if that fool Hakuro hadn't been promoted instead of him... if that brat Elric hadn't let Mustang make the invasion look like a game!

     He should have been in line to be Fuhrer by now, nothing but a well-timed concoction in old Halifax's glass between him and the power to restore this country.

     Mustang had said, outright, he wasn't using enough power to open the rabbit-hole, and now it was clear he could control where it went. Those figures on power levels needed to trigger the rabbit-hole had to be somewhere. They couldn't have disappeared from all the piles of reports he'd received. He had to be overlooking something.

     The traces of dust where filing cabinets used to be wouldn't help him, and everywhere he went, he heard the same thing: "_You'll have to ask Mr. Elric about that. He collected that paperwork earlier._"

     Mustang's little gullyfluff. To ask that brat for anything, he might as well douse himself in gasoline and ask Mustang for a light. But his pre-arranged meeting with the Xingese agent was this afternoon, and he would get those numbers, and they'd solve this 'power issue' once and for all! Once he had the rabbit-hole, he wouldn't need to rely on petty games. He could topple this so-called 'administration' and leave Xing and Drachma fighting over the spoils while he rebuilt the military into something that could withstand them both.

     "Lt. General Fieseler, sir?" Blackburn walked out of the office behind him, pulling up to attention. "I didn't realize you'd be visiting. How may I be of service?"

     He answered the Colonel's salute and frowned at the floor where his research used to stand. "I'm checking on this rabbit-hole transfer. Is it all done then, in good order?"

     "Sir! Yes, sir! My staff finished transferring the data and all communication has been rerouted to Brigadier General Mustang's office. It's done, sir."

     "Then would you explain why I have men saying they saw Sgt. Major Junkers handing off a file to General Hakuro on the sly?"

     Witnesses could put Hakuro around the files transfer if asked. That man had been sniffing around after everything Mustang did. Making him a target for Mustang's suspicions would be a kind of justice, too.

     Quiet, confused fear crept over Blackburn's eyes.

     Right where he wanted him, Fieseler thought.

     "If that's the kind of disorder you keep, I'll have your whole department up on charges."

     "Whoever came to you must have been mistaken, sir. Sgt. Major Junkers would never betray his duty. If there's any doubt, we can check with Capt. Hawkeye. She was with him throughout the transfer."

     "You can call on Capt. Hawkeye at your leisure when she finishes her duties escorting Maj. General Saulnier to today's talks."

     It had only been a little trouble to find a time when all of Mustang's staff that ever reliably left the office were going to be out. Capt. Hawkeye would be at those meetings until well after normal office hours, as Blackburn seemed to know from the way his face turned pale.

     "For now, I suggest you go to Security and produce that report, if Junkers did deliver it." He handed the Colonel a note with what phrases he could remember printed on it. "Here's a few lines my source saw. Bring me that report, and I'll clear this. No one needs to know."

     "What reason should I give for taking it out of the office, sir? Procedures for transporting Top Secret documents--"

     "Do I have to mollycoddle you, Colonel? I thought I was rewarding you for your prior performance by not ordering an inquiry, but I didn't realize you can't fill out a little paperwork."

     "I'll... I'll think of something, sir."

     Fieseler nodded, walking for the hallway. "Very good, Colonel."

     Then, pausing at the door, he remembered: he hadn't been able to find a time when both Mustang and Elric would be out of the office.

     They'd be together. Alone.

     "And Colonel Blackburn?" he called over his shoulder.

     "Yes, sir!"

     "... Knock before you go in."

     Another shadow of confusion fell over the man's face. "... Y-yes, sir."

~//~

     There had been no one in the darkened outer office, so no one had answered his first knock. Blackburn went in anyway, nearly bruising himself on a chair that hadn't been where he expected. Surely the Security office should have been more of a priority for the repair crews! But, feeling his way around the desks, he found himself at the door to the inner office, holding up his hand and hearing the rumble of indistinct voices behind it.

     Wouldn't he have knocked anyway? Why had the Lt. General been so particular?

     Two voices came closer, and Blackburn stepped back by instinct.

     "No, I will be the one responsible for your lunch today, Ed. That's not up for debate."

     "How are you being responsible when I'm the one running out?!"

     "It's a shared effort. I treat, you go fetch."

     "Jackass."

     "What did the Drachman ambassador call you? Hellraiser?"

     Blackburn was standing dazed with his hand in the air when the door opened despite his lack of knocking. And there was Brigadier General Mustang kissing Edward Elric goodbye. A sweet, simple peck on the lips like any couple might do at any door.

     Any door except the office of the head of Security in the middle of the workday!

     Was that why they'd been so familiar when Elric had first come back? That would've gotten Elric barred from Mustang's department for certain, and if they'd been hiding it, they'd both be court-martialed! And...

     And he wasn't thinking about this right now. Because Edward Elric and Roy Mustang were staring at him.

     "G-good afternoon, Brigadier General Mustang, sir! And... Mr. Elric."

     There had been a memo about converting his rank to civilian status, hadn't there? Come to think of it, Mustang had addressed him as such from the beginning, hadn't he? Well. Then he wasn't going to tell anyone that maybe they ought to bring improper fraternization charges up against Roy Mustang. Not that he would have anyway. So that was settled.

     The blond squinted at his silence. "Can I help you?"

     "I... ah..." He swallowed, pulling up his strength. "I have an inquiry about some rabbit-hole paperwork." Blackburn nodded at the light furrow on Mustang's brow. "Sir."

     The Brigadier General pulled the door open enough for him to pass, and Elric stepped out of the way. "Colonel Blackburn," Mustang said. "Please, take a seat."

     He could barely suppress a shiver as he followed the man in, Elric shutting the door behind them and leaning against it with his arms crossed. The blond's eyes bea into the back of his skull when he sat down. Mustang, meanwhile, leaned against his desk in just the right position to block the sunlight coming through the window and leave Blackburn sitting in his shadow. Apparently, lunch wasn't so urgent.

     "Now, Colonel. Let me know what you need, and we'll see how we can help you."

     Gulping again, he forced out the words he'd decided on.

     "We found a stray page, sir. It looked like math from the rabbit-hole, but I couldn't be sure. If I can verify that one of your reports is missing that page, I can take it to my department and mend it. I brought a quote... to identify it," he finished, handing Fieseler's note to Mustang.

     "Why didn't you just bring the page?" Elric asked from behind him. "It'd've been faster. We could mend it here."

     "I... didn't... think of that."

     Twenty-seven years as an officer keeping his nose clean hadn't prepared him for lying, even on a superior's... suggestion. But to say to the head of Internal Security that Junkers or, God forbid, _Hakuro_ had been compromised? Even if the backlash didn't get him shot, Junkers's career would be over no matter what the truth was.

     And the man would never do that. Blackburn was sure.

     Mustang had a way of studying that paper that made Blackburn feel like he was back in school, about to get detention for a stupid prank despite having more than a decade on the hot-shot Brigadier.

     "That's a memorable quote, Colonel Blackburn. I think I'd recall if it'd been in any reports. Fullmetal? You've been through the paperwork more recently than I have."

     "What's it say?"

     Mustang read the words with oratory precision. "It says, '_... equal to the combined energy of one billion trucks, each moving at 160 kilometers per hours, converging on the head of a pin._' What do you make of that?"

     "Yeah, that was never in any report. I only said anything like that in a private conversation, I'm pretty damn sure."

     "An informal analysis, if I recall," Mustang said, looking at Blackburn with a polite smile that reminded him of a mountain lion with an eye out for its prey. "Nothing with enough scientific rigor to merit report. The only way someone could know that estimate would be to bug my office. I assume, Colonel Blackburn, that you haven't made a habit of bugging my office?"

     He couldn't have been more honest than when he spat, "No, sir!"

     "And judging from your record, I doubt you're involved in... let's say... any conspiracies to commit a coup d'etat or any collusions with foreign powers to institute an absolute dictator."

     "I... I beg your pardon? ... A coup, sir?!"

     Brigadier General Mustang's smile broadened as he held up the note between two fingers. "Colonel, did you know that the lowercase K on your secretary's typewriter has a skewed ascender?"

     "... Sir?"

     "The stem bends five degrees to the right," he answered, turning the paper around to look at it again. "And the type is fresh. Now, I could verify this against the strike patterns of every typewriter in Central HQ, and I could check who's been in your office in the last hour. But you'd be doing me a favor, Colonel Blackburn, if you'd just tell me who asked you to come here."

     Blackburn considered everything he'd ever believed to decide what he _ought_ to do. Fieseler ranked Mustang, and though he hadn't made it an order, Blackburn knew when he wasn't supposed to talk. But if Mustang was right, and that note made Fieseler a traitor...

     All he had was the word of a hot-shot Brigadier with a checkered past.

     Against the word of a Lieutenant General serving on the Council.

     And who'd come to him with a tall tale about Junkers that set off every ounce of suspicion he had. He weighed that against the look in Mustang's one good eye, daring him to consider who he thought was going to come out on top. The Flame Alchemist was asking him to decide whose side he was on. Or at least, whose side he wanted to be on.

     For Fieseler's sake, he hoped the Lieutenant General had nothing to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) "Two Temptations" is the title of Book 7 of Middlemarch, published in 1874. Our final clue for guessing the source works of the titles: the last chapter of the story will be entitled, "A Knock at the Door".
> 
> 2) It's possible for a "tiny" EMP to have a small effect area than I used in this story -- one you make by overloading the flash on a camera, for example. Edward, however, was basing his concept of "tiny" on theories for nuclear explosions. Before testing any nuclear weapons, test facilities were aware that they would need to watch out for EMP, and Edward's attempt to constrain this theoretical reaction to a "tiny" scale was actually effective. A scale comparison: the radius of an EMP from a small nuclear weapon, as opposed to a megaton or larger device, would probably cover an area the size of France -- which is roughly the same size as all of Amestris (I estimate).
> 
> 3) Counsellor Ilyushin is named for a manufacturer of airplanes, including the Ilyushin Il-2 (1941).


	10. A Knock at the Door

     As Ed leaned against the door, watching Roy talk around this other Colonel like he'd talked around at least five hundred people in the last few months, he felt like there ought to be a soundtrack playing. Every damn thing they'd done to get their answer was about to click into place. They should've had an organist, like at the flickers, playing something dramatic that broke into a fanfare when Blackburn said the guy's name.

     Instead, they got a quiet, "It was Lt. General Fieseler, sir," and Roy tucked the note away.

     "Thank you, Colonel Blackburn. That should be everything we need." Ed swung the door open so Roy could lead the bewildered-looking officer toward the hall. "Why don't you sit in the officer's lounge until this blows over? Have some coffee."

     "My department--"

     "My men will secure your staff. They'll be safe."

     All the confusion in Blackburn's face hardened to a frown, like he'd realized he'd just turned in a dangerous asshole. "Thank you, sir," he said, then saluted and turned for the stairs.

     Roy, meanwhile, flagged the first soldier they passed from his brigade, an enlisted man who barely looked older than Al.

     "Corporal Cessna. Your unit finished their shift at the talks?"

     "Yes, sir, Brigadier General Mustang, sir!" The kid snapped to attention with his eyes half bugged out of his skull.

     "At ease, soldier." Roy pulled out a notepad, scratched a few quick lines, and tore out the sheet for the Corporal. "Take this to the bell tower. They'll know what it is."

     "Right away, sir."

     "When you're done, rendezvous with your squad. Take all staff in the Eastern Liaison's office to wait with Colonel Blackburn in the officer's lounge. If trouble starts, you're authorized to move everyone to a shield room."

     "Trouble, sir?"

     "No time for questions, Corporal. Get to it."

     "Yes, sir!"

     With another salute, the kid broke for the stairs at a run, and Roy nodded at Ed. "Ready to see the Lieutenant General?"

     "Is that a trick question?"

~//~

     The bells tolled, and Hawkeye counted off low and high tones to decode Roy's message.

     Her orders were to be at Fieseler's office in fifteen minutes.

     She signalled the guard in the hallway to get a replacement for her post, then fixed her eyes back on the meeting table.

     The Xingese prince had his eyes on her. At a shift of his hand, his two guards moved toward opposite ends of her field of vision. Roy had warned her this might happen and had ordered her not to engage. None of the other delegates noticed the bodyguards, unfortunately. For now, she watched them as best she could.

     They'd follow when she left.

     She'd just have to lose them.

~//~

     Everyone in the Regional Affairs reception office -- and _here_ the lights had been fixed! -- jumped to their feet as the two of them walked in, saluting Roy and looking at Ed in nervous twitches. At least the rolling bells gave him the soundtrack he'd wanted.

     "We're here for the Lt. General," Roy told the Captain who'd stepped up.

     "I'm sorry, I wasn't told to expect you, sir. Let me check--"

     "This is urgent, Captain Boeing."

     "... Right this way, sir."

     Roy stuck on their guide's heels as they wound through the maze of back hallways, making the man walk twice as fast as when they'd started. The three of them barreled around corners while people standing in office doors left trails of whispers behind. Finally, after one last turn, Ed saw Fieseler's mug at the end of the line. The General saw them, too, and looked straight into Ed's eyes.

     If he'd been worried when they showed up, now he was scared. Their dipshit dropped his papers on the nearest desk while his staff panicked. Fieseler waved them back to their seats, but even Ed could tell he was pretending to be calm. He walked toward his private office. Roy got closer on Boeing's heels.

     The Captain stepped through the door and stood aside, eyes wide and a question in his open mouth. He never got to ask. The lock on Fieseler's door silenced everyone, followed hard by the sound of a window sash slamming open.

     Escape through the window. Classic.

     "I'm here to arrest Lt. General Fieseler on suspicion of treason," Roy announced, as if he did this every day. "No one leave this room."

     Roy pulled on his gloves. Everyone backed against the walls with their hands up.

     "Ed?" Roy asked, nodding at the locked door.

     With a clap, he made a _better_ door, with nicer detailing on the panels in addition to being unlocked, and they pushed through. Nothing to see but an open window, of course.

     "Look for closets and hidden compartments," Roy ordered, checking under the desk before looking out the window. "Confirm he's gone."

     No one tried to run. Maybe they were accomplices, maybe they weren't. By the time Roy had finished checking the furniture and Ed had run over half a wall looking for secret nooks, it was too late for anyone to bolt. Captain Hawkeye had shown up to guard the door.

     Behind a bookshelf, Ed found the crack of a secret door and pushed it open.

     "Jackpot," he announced. "He's got a radio set with a reel-to-reel recorder." He broke the padlock off a latched box, giant wheels of audio tape inside. "And he kept the old recordings in metal boxes. There's a chance we can still get audio off of these."

     "We'll hold this position until backup arrives. We can't risk evidence walking away."

     "You're not worried about the dipshit running through the city?" Ed asked, scanning the walls for more hidey-holes. "He got his leg fixed, Roy. He _can_ run now."

     "When will you learn to trust me, Fullmetal? My rank isn't just for decoration."

~//~

     From the rooftop, Lan Fan watched the blue-suited Amestrian forces -- some up high, some blockading streets throughout the city. The blond woman had gotten lost in a sea of uniforms and traces of human spirit, but there was more than one way to hunt a hunter. When you knew what it was hunting, the job was halfway done.

     "Any sign of Liu Zhou?" she asked Fu, hoping he'd felt some hint of the alchemist at work.

     The old man squinted off into the distance. "Keep your eyes on the Amestrians. That confusion looked like they're chasing one of their own, too."

     "It might not be related. Mustang didn't mention anything but Drachma and the circle."

     "He wouldn't. But a man on the inside is more likely than our Emperor conspiring with Drachma for something so focused on Amestris. Either way, make sure they don't find Liu before we do. We need to draw him into the open."

     The Emperor's alchemist would prefer to lay low, she knew, in the middle of this show of force. He'd avoid any chance of a defeat that would implicate Xing -- and thereby Qi Zhou. His Highness had made it clear, they needed to reveal him publicly for just that reason.

     Fu's breath caught, and she turned her head to see his eyes snap open.

     "He's here. Tiger branch, 200 meters."

~//~

     "Report," Roy ordered as Fuery, Breda, Falman, and Havoc fell in.

     2nd Lt. Fuery was still red-faced from his run. "We chased him after he jumped out the window, but he dropped smoke grenades at the corner of 3rd Street and Park. 115th Division reports Northern and Western perimeters are secure."

     Falman held up a pile of blue fabric. "We found his uniform, three blocks east of where he disappeared. No hits on the East or South perimeters."

     "We've got the men with flares clearing the streets," Havoc said. "We're short on functional radio, but couriers are running between units."

     He'd have to solve the equipment issue. Fullmetal's blast had destroyed most military-band transmitters, and they couldn't run this operation on frequencies civilians could monitor. He'd need faster reports than a courier could offer.

     "Guards are locking down known haunts," Breda followed up, "and every train station is under watch."

     Roy nodded. "Lt. Falman, 2nd Lt. Fuery, stay here and catalog evidence. Capt. Havoc, find Marshal Wright and anyone on the Council you can pick up. Give him this." He handed over a letter -- written, signed, and sealed -- to explain the situation. "Cooperate in full, and get an official warrant from Major General Defiant. Lt. Breda, take the Lt. General's staff officers to Detainment for questioning, then go to Security and coordinate operations. Capt. Hawkeye, Fullmetal -- you're with me."

     Everyone stepped to their duties. As he strode out of the Regional Affairs office, he heard the familiar click of Hawkeye checking the magazine in her gun and the spares in her belt.

     "Where are we headed?" Ed asked.

     "The police station. Their departmental radios were outside the blast. Their officers can relay messages, but we'll need to go there to arrange it. Unless you have a citizen-band radio?"

     Ed dodged down a crossing hallway. "I know where one is. It'll save time, right?"

     Roy followed his footsteps rounding corners, Hawkeye covering his blind spots as they dashed through the path Fullmetal left in the hallway traffic. When they caught up with Ed at Marshal Levochkin's office, he was already inside, talking with the red-haired intern at her desk.

     Sure enough, she produced a radio and followed Edward out the door. She had someone in tow, Roy noticed -- someone with a camera, and a very particular look in his eye. The look of someone who'd shown up to take pictures for a calendar but thought something more interesting was happening.

     Roy cut the photographer off before he could open his mouth. "You can't come unless you keep up, watch your back, and stay out of the way."

     "I covered battles with Aerugo. Nothing that'd get the front page, but I can handle myself."

     Whether his newspaper would print something they might have to retract the next day, depending on how the Council reacted, was a question Roy decided not to ask.

     "Be sure that you do handle yourself," he said, "and give my people room to work." He took the radio from Miss Hawker, tuned it to the police's emergency frequency, and pressed transmit. "Breaker-5. This is ISO with a 10-78. Over?"

     The sound of a falling chair cut through the static, then a man's voice stammered, "C-come back? _ISO?_ This is First Central Municipal Police. What do you need? Over."

     "First Central, we're in pursuit of a fugitive. Male, 5'11'', 78 kilograms, mid-forties. Long dark hair, facial scar, automail leg. I need all available police to assist my troops by relaying messages on his position. Over."

     "Yes, sir, ISO. Our people are on their way... And I've got a call back from Glebe Street Market. Man ran out of nowhere, upset a cart, and disappeared. That your fugitive? Over."

     "Could be. Thank you, First Central. Tell your people to support my officers, but do not engage the fugitive. I repeat, do not engage."

     He took a breath, and held back from giving the Lt. General's name, or identifying him as military over a public channel. The propaganda department would be mad enough that he hadn't handcuffed the newspaperman to a chair -- but he'd prefer someone know the real story before the military rewrote history.

     "I'm on the move, First Central. Send someone to rendezvous. ISO, 10-10. Over."

     "Understood, ISO. First Central clear."

     Ed smirked as he handed the radio back. "Is there any code you _don't_ speak?"

     "Let's go," Roy ordered, and their group of three plus one dashed down the hallway. "If he was near Glebe, he's doubled back toward the building."

~//~

     From the overturned market carts, Hawkeye tailed Roy while he followed reports coming through their policeman's radio. Fieseler had tried to blend into a crowd the soldiers had herded into a library, unsuccessfully. He'd left one man unconscious and dislocated one man's shoulder during his escape, but no civilian casualties. Eyes on the rooftops tracked Fieseler down eight emptied streets before their little squad caught sight of him ducking into a building.

     Residential, no maintenance on the walkways outside, apparently abandoned.

     The address was one she'd found linked to funds diverted from the housing budget.

     Roy didn't need her to say they were probably looking at the target's base. He knew. Instead of crossing the street after Fieseler, the Brigadier signaled with his hand, and Hawkeye translated for the photographer and cop as she pointed to a doorwell.

     "Keep back."

     She sent up a flare, and the policeman murmured into his radio, "Fugitive confirmed at 17 East. Is there a unit inside? Over."

     Faces appeared at the windows on surrounding buildings -- soldiers who'd have residents and whoever they'd found on the street on lockdown. No troops signalled from their target building, but she saw a flash of white.

     "Movement on the third floor," she told Roy, sighting down her pistol.

     He pulled his gloves taut. "I need to know if there're civilians in that building."

     "The team in the adjacent building says the doors were locked, sir," the cop reported.

     Two figures dropped off the roof behind them, and Hawkeye grabbed her back-up pistol from her rear harness. The Xingese guards, displaying their empty hands as they walked forward. At a nod from Brigadier General Mustang, she stowed her back-up and turned her full attention back to the building.

     "We have the situation under control," Roy told them. "If your man is in that building, we'll bring him in. Return to your posts."

     The old man answered, "You'd be walking into a trap. I felt an alchemical lock activate. You'll want to draw an alchemist out, not confront him in the middle of his work."

     "We do know what we're doing!" Edward-kun grumbled.

     "You wanted to know if anyone was in the building? We only sense two people."

     Fieseler and the alchemist, by implication.

     Roy frowned at the two guards. After Marshal Wright's flat denial last week to allow a joint operation with the Xingese envoy, he didn't have room to maneuver without undermining the government's authority. All he'd need was an inch, but even Roy Mustang couldn't directly controvert the Marshal in front of a foreign diplomat's staff.

     "The Council discussed with His Highness Prince Ling the repercussions if he interfered. Return to your post."

     If the Xingese contingent were telling the truth, they could be sure no bystanders were inside, but Hawkeye was just as happy to wait for confirmation. The only thing she wanted less than an international incident was unpredictable agents operating on her field. Still, they stood firm as troops set up barriers down the streets, one block in each direction.

     From the western barricade, Hawkeye saw a blue coat running past the posted soldiers -- Lt. General Bloch, wearing a wide belt with an inscribed array.

     He skirted the row of buildings, ducking behind the same corner where the Brigadier had taken cover. "I'll be damned, Mustang. You actually weren't lying. What's the situation?"

     "We believe Fieseler entered the building to meet an accomplice, probably our wanted alchemist. Men are on the roof to break in and confirm no one else is inside before I smoke them out. The Xingese ambassador has offered his guards in support, as you see. I was reminding them that I can't accept when you arrived. Are you taking command, Lt. General?"

     "God, no. I thought you'd want a witness if somebody tries to hang you later. Would your men even listen to me?"

nbsp;    "Permission not to answer, sir?" Roy grit his teeth into a grin. Goodness knew, he might need help not getting hung depending on what the Council made of his actions.

     "Granted," Bloch laughed. "But let me get you a better view inside."

     Transmutation sparks flared around him as he touched the ground. Channels shifted in the road, pulling the earth away from the building and taking the brick with it. Red stone tumbled into the empty crossroads. Only the skeleton of the building remained.

     Fieseler was there. He dashed behind a table and flipped it against a corner for cover. Another man in the room knelt, triggering his own transmutation, and walls of ice covered the sides of the building less than a breath later.

     "That's definitely Liu Zhou," the girl from the Prince's guard whispered.

     The policeman's radio crackled next to Hawkeye's shoulder with confirmations that the building was otherwise clear.

     Roy took a deep breath as he settled next to her on the wall and whispered, "This'll be tricky with that much moisture pulled from the air. I don't want to burn the block down."

     "You'll manage," she told him.

     Soldiers moved into doorways in all the neighboring buildings, and with a snap, Roy sent a line of fire across the roads that caught on an exposed beam. Before long, black smoke curled out of melted fissures at the edges of the ice. A few moments after, a hole opened in the ice where the first floor should have been, and two men ran into the street. Roy stopped the flames, but the smoke still rolled out while Fieseler and his accomplice caught their breath.

     Fieseler took cover behind a pile of brick. The other man -- the one the prince's guards had identified as Liu Zhou -- crouched close to the ground, a folder in his hands that he slipped into a thick sack on his shoulders. He glanced around the perimeter, then fixed his eyes on the Xingese guards still standing near Roy.

     "You're working with Amestris," he shouted.

     "We're in Amestris at the command of our Emperor, and here on the orders of our Prince," the old man answered. "Whose orders have you come on, Liu Zhou?"

     The alchemist flung three long needles at the ice walls on the building, sending sparks across the distance from the band on his right wrist. The ice dissolved as a cloud formed overhead, as dark over the city as the smoke leaving the building had been. It was thick enough to turn the afternoon sunlight to a dusky shadow.

     Brigadier General Mustang told the Xingese guards again, "Return to your post. We'll bring the prisoner in as I promised. If you insert yourself into the battle, I will be forced to take you into custody."

     From what Hawkeye could see around the bricks, the shift of Fieseler's weight looked like he was pulling a weapon. He was also focused on his conspirator, not on the troops or the lines of civilians whom soldiers were leading from the buildings. Good. This'd be easier if the Lieutenant General wasn't interested in the crowds heading past the blockades.

     A transmutation crackled behind her, probably Edward-kun turning a plate on his arm into a blade. Sure enough, the blond's voice came in a split second later. "He's gonna make it rain, Roy, and I can't wait much longer."

     "So go." Roy snapped his fingers, raising a wall of flame between Fieseler and the Xingese alchemist.

     Edward-kun shot into the road, skidding around ice-chains Zhou transmuted out of the air. The ends materialized around the Prince's guards, who stood unmoving with their eyes on Roy. When Hawkeye and Bloch closed to assist, the chains didn't shatter with normal force. Edward-kun took care of that, but the Xingese fighters were none too happy. Neither was Roy, who'd know how dangerous it'd be to ask them to run now, or to call more soldiers close enough to escort them out. The guards would resist. They couldn't afford that right now.

     "Are we allowed to defend ourselves or not?!" the girl yelled.

     Roy shared a nod with Bloch and answered, "I'll allow it. Fight in defense only. Subdue your attacker if necessary, but you are not to apprehend, remove, or kill him. Do exactly as I say, or I can't guarantee your safety -- from him, or from us."

     The girl and the old man nodded, and ran at the Xingese alchemist. Roy stayed behind long enough to nod at the photographer changing his film and the policeman.

     "Our targets don't seem interested in non-combatants," he told her, "but if that changes, don't let them learn the hard way what an alchemist can do on the battlefield."

     "Yes, sir."

     With that, Roy and Lt. General Bloch advanced on Fieseler, while Edward-kun and the Xingese guards kept the alchemist too busy to call rain from the clouds. The lightning blasts triggered by the array on his left wrist, though, kept his attackers from staying close. Their new allies' answer was to strike fast and often. Edward-kun's was to turn a pile of bricks into a partisan spear with a wooden shaft. Meanwhile, Roy had Fieseler cornered in a ring of fire, circling outside as Fieseler circled inside looking for a weakness.

     The longer he waited, with the circle burning stronger as it crept in, the clearer it became that he was outmatched. Roy wouldn't kill him, but the Lieutenant General's steps faltered as if near fainting from heat and lack of oxygen. The Xingese alchemist, as well as he fought, was no better off. In a flash of bodies, the old man managed to put him in a lock while the girl pointed a blade to his throat. Edward-kun clapped and grabbed his wrists. The bands marked with his battle arrays fell in tatters to the ground.

     "Give it up," Edward-kun growled. "You can't win."

     The man's eyes said he agreed. He wrenched out of the old man's grip with the pop of a dislocating shoulder. The limb hung at his side as he jumped away, tearing open his shirt with his other hand to show an array tattooed on his chest.

     "You won't take me, or my work," he said. With his good hand, he flung needles toward the blockades.

     Transmuted walls rose from the ground to block them -- the Rubicon Alchemist's doing -- and where the needles scattered, arcs of lightning built an electric wall that traveled inward, toward everyone on the battlefield including himself.

     While Roy worked on dispersing the clouds and Bloch made earthen spikes to disrupt the lightning, Edward-kun kicked at the man's legs. The Xingese alchemist jumped clear, but what he didn't see coming was Fieseler, vaulting through flames to knock him to the ground. Smoking and charred, with skin burned, the Lieutenant General rolled his accomplice into the bricks.

     "You're not dying! Not with those circles on you!"

     In the split second it took everyone to rush them both, Fieseler pulled the alchemist's folder from his bag. The alchemist, for once, was terrified. "It's not stable! You can't!"

     Edward-kun and Roy went stiff as sparks leapt from the page when the foreign alchemist tried to grab the papers.

     Fieseler turned to the Xingese alchemist, whose face contorted with dread.

     "Now, what was it you told me? I can activate a transmutation myself?"

     "He redrew that with the triggers intact, Roy!" Edward-kun yelled.

     The Brigadier General shouted at the soldiers on the barricades, "Fall back! Take those people and push back five blocks!" The policeman repeated the order into his radio, then nodded as Roy told him, "Someone in Base Squad needs to get to the ambassadors and move everyone out of those talks. They're in the radius." To the Xingese guards, he said, "If you can get there faster, do it."

     They scaled the buildings like hills and ran over the rooftops. Hawkeye stayed. So did Lt. General Bloch, his face as serious as any alchemist's on the field. Creeping closer to the fight, the photographer had stayed, too.

     "Leave if you want to know you'll live," Hawkeye told him.

     "Thank you, ma'am, but I'd rather die." He framed another shot, with a look on his face she'd seen often enough to know he meant it. "And if I do, please get this film to my editor."

     Well. He'd stayed out from underfoot this long, and until Roy tried to get _her_ to leave, chances were good they'd all walk out intact.

     "Fine," she said. "But don't be an idiot. Step past me and I throw you over the barricade."

     "Understood."

~//~

     The blue uniforms lining the platform were the first thing Alphonse saw when his train pulled into Central. They would've been hard to ignore. The troops had every person coming and going lined up for inspection, leaving the normally noisy station full of murmurs.

     The guards by his door saluted as he stepped off the train.

     "What's happened?" Alphonse asked, returning their salutes.

     The left-hand soldier's face looked sick. "Orders from Brigadier General Mustang to detain Lt. General Fieseler, sir."

     He'd been right to come back. Either Brigadier General Mustang had made his move, or their traitor -- the Lieutenant General, it seemed -- had forced his hand.

     "Who's in charge here?"

     "Lt. Blenheim has this platform, sir." The two guards pointed him at the stairs.

     Making himself walk instead of run took every ounce of composure he had, especially when he got far enough to see the city blanketed in a strange layer of dust and dark thunderclouds. The weather had been clear for miles around. Those clouds had the smack of weather alchemy about them.

     He had to find his brother.

     The Lieutenant, with only a few stray wisps of light-brown hair flitting out of her bun despite the day she was probably having, was marking down all-clear reports when he walked up. She took a double-take, then she and her subordinates snapped to attention.

     "Major Elric, sir! We weren't told to expect you."

     "Lieutenant Blenheim," he answered, saluting according to protocol -- although he still felt ill at ease. "I'm sorry, I couldn't call ahead. Do you know where I can find Brigadier General Mustang? I assume he's not in his office at the moment."

     She turned to the man on her left. "Get me the communications--"

     Before she could finish, a column of blue iridescence shot into the sky a few blocks from Central Command, sparking like lightning and hitting his ears with a brutal whine. Alphonse tightened his jaw, facing Lt. Blenheim with a smile. Her eyes had grown as round as marbles as she blinked at the light.

     "What the hell..." She caught her tongue and turned back to him. "I'm sorry, sir. I can--"

     "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I think I know where to go." He looked around the platform, full of soldiers calming the crowds who'd just gotten off the train or were waiting for the next arrival. "And you have nothing to be sorry for. You're doing a great job."

     Barely pausing for a last salute, he dashed as fast as he could for the blue light. The long flap on the back of his uniform whipped in the wind as he took corners at a high-speed lean. He hadn't run like this since his days training with Sensei.

     The guards at the blockade tried to stop him. Then they saw his face, his uniform, and the silver watch he'd held up for them to check. "I have information for the Brigadier General," Alphonse told them, and they let him through without argument.

     It wasn't exactly a lie. He probably knew something Brigadier General Mustang would find helpful, although he couldn't be sure what it would be.

     From there, he followed the ring of striking metal, explosions, and pieces of rock bashing other pieces of rock. Where he found those, as expected, he found his brother, screaming atop a stone cannon and firing a hail of projectiles at the strange blueness around Lt. General Fieseler. By the time he reached Capt. Hawkeye and the two strangers with her, though, the tower seemed less blue and more like a heat mirage warping the space inside. The whine had changed, too. It wasn't sound. It was sheer pressure on his bones and nerves.

     His brother's projectiles went straight through everything in the column, smashing into walls Lt. General Bloch made to guard the town from Nii-san's onslaught. And when Brigadier General Mustang's flames hit the warping space, they flared up in a wild dance that left the ground inside unscathed. A Xingese man was drawing an alchemical array -- their weather alchemist, Alphonse figured.

     "I hope I'm not too late," he said to Captain Hawkeye. Pulling a piece of chalk from the box in his pocket, he studied the battlefield. His brother had switched from cannons to towering stone hands smashing down on the Lt. General's space -- only to crash against the ground.

     "All physical attacks are passing through the field?" Alphonse asked.

     Captain Hawkeye nodded.

     "Does anyone have a theory on how he's standing on the road? If he phases through all matter, I mean?"

     "No theories that anyone's shared. They want to destroy the circle he's holding. Zhou, the Xingese man, thinks he can shape the column to open up an attack vector for your brother."

     "That's Nii-san and the Brigadier General's work, isn't it?" It certainly looked like Nii-san's array in the Lt. General's hands, and the effects were consistent with their theories. If someone had stolen his brother's arrays, no wonder the city had begun blowing up. "Why isn't Nii-san--"

     "He clapped, it twisted, it bounced back. Evidence suggests that control isn't Edward-kun's strong point. The Xingese alchemist thinks he can do it."

     He wouldn't be the one to argue that Nii-san erred on the side of control, but he doubted anyone who didn't understand the effect in front of them as completely as his brother did would succeed. Hopefully matters wouldn't get too dire before Nii-san found a way to substitute fortitude for control, or some other way to stop this completely.

     "Can Fieseler do anything besides turn insubstantial?"

     As he asked, the warping inside the column became a harsh twist, with the Lt. General's body disaligning and realigning along with the rubble around him. Grotesque spires shot from the ground at all angles, then retracted, then punched long stalagmites at Nii-san as he ran.

     Hawkeye sucked in a breath. "I think he learned how to do something else."

     It didn't look like it was good for him. Once the field stabilized, he was bleeding in places he hadn't been bleeding before. "Okay," he murmured. These weren't the best conditions for experimentation, but there wasn't much else to do.

     His brother saw him when he ran out on the field, as did the Brigadier General and Lt. General Bloch, but Fieseler seemed too occupied with assessing his own situation. To the right of the column, glinting with an iridescent shade as it moved with Fieseler's steps, Alphonse chalked a circle and left it sitting without activating it.

     Lt. General Bloch moved his barriers and Nii-san turned piles of bricks into duck-headed turrets spitting red spheres. Fieseler dodged -- they could count on reflexes, even if they couldn't hit him -- touching the circle Alphonse had drawn. The ground beneath his feet puffed into an explosion of feathers, filling the air and leaving a crater in the dirt. That answered two questions.

     First, he had to and could bat away the feathers from his eyes. No matter how ineffectual it was, he could touch them instead of phasing through. Second, he'd fallen into the crater and was climbing out with feather down sticking to bloody trails on his skin. External matter was effectively insubstantial, but matter included in the effect had substance to him.

     At least for now. The first thing they'd learned in alchemy was how the alchemist's understanding would dictate the results. No one knew the rules yet for what Nii-san had cooked up with the Brigadier, not even the two of them, and they certainly didn't know what other changes might result from Fieseler's evolving understanding of the power he'd taken.

     Best not to wait until they found out.

     Alphonse snuck behind Fieseler while the man was struggling to his feet and sketched another circle as fast as he could. This one sprouted stone tendrils that bound Fieseler's hands and feet. The man craned his neck to catch a glimpse of him.

     "Damn you Elrics!"

     Lt. General Bloch wiped some dust off his hands. "You're the only alchemist I've ever seen come to a fight with a piece of chalk," he scoffed. "How the hell do you draw that fast?"

     "Necessity."

     Sensei never had given anyone time to dodge.

     All five of them -- him, Nii-san, Mustang, Bloch, and the alchemist named Zhou -- walked toward Fieseler and his column. The Xingese man threw six needles, one by one, spaced around the force in the air. Energy shot between them. The column around Fieseler twisted in on itself. Nii-san picked up a partisan capped in razor-sharp steel, and aimed the point at the paper Fieseler was holding while Brigadier General Mustang stood by ready to snap.

     Lt. General Fieseler's skin had the look of old leather worn to holes. He struggled to get an arm free, cutting further into the raw patches, trickles of blood smearing on the surface. Inside the wavering patch of reality where he stood, even the stone Alphonse had transmuted to hold him seemed to warp and mutate, flecks of dust trickling down from thin cracks in the structure. With one last wrench before the Xingese man finished his work, Fieseler freed a battered folder from his grip. It fell, and Fieseler caught at two pages, both marked with circles that sparked at his touch.

     His body seemed to stretch and fade. The whine in the air and the heat mirage vanished along with him, all in an instant.

     The five of them glanced around the street, back to back.

     "Your directed leap theory?" the Brigadier General asked Nii-san.

     "Those arrays aren't finished, damn it! They haven't been tested! I don't even know if all of him'll come out at the same place!"

     Lightning cracked a block away in the direction of Central Command, with an inhuman cry like a whetstone on metal. Brigadier General Mustang in the lead, they ran, the stampede of their boots kicking up clouds of dust. The column was gone, but they could see a haze around Fieseler's tattered figure, sparks jumping between papers fanning out from his belt.

~//~

     All Ling wanted was to jump on the table and demand to know whether the other ambassadors and the Amestrian general were completely deaf. But he sat. Yelling would be satisfying in the short term but would reflect poorly on him and on Xing in the long term. The desire to appear cool and reasonable was eroding, however, because those _idiots_ wouldn't pack up despite the news Lan Fan and Fu had brought.

     Counselor Ilyushin scoffed, flaring his nose at Ling and his guards. "Cheap dramatics. That's what you get when children play politics. Have we talked too long? You'd like to leave for an afternoon nap? Go on! The adults will arrange things in your absence."

     "I beg your pardon, Counselor. I won't leave my honored colleagues to a grisly doom while I drool into a pillow."

     The General tapped her pen against the table. "Your Highness, that your guards claim to have met with Brigadier General Mustang in direct opposition to our agreement -- and for your sake, all I'm taking as certain is that you sent them _somewhere_ \-- in no way demonstrates that we're in danger."

     Saulnier's stone gray eyes didn't have Ilyushin's contempt, at least. The Cretan and Aerugan ambassadors were less blatant in pooh-pooh-ing him, but that was politeness more than respect. Only the Amestrian seemed to think he was just out of order, not a fool.

     "Brigadier General Mustang has men," she said, nodding at the security officers by the door. "If he's concerned about the safety of the summit, he'll send one of them instead of relying on foreign agents."

     "If we need someone to check my guards' information, so be it. Surely Amestris has a protocol for running to the street to check for a blockade! Or is that too complicated to be worth the _minor issue_ of settling the concerns of a diplomatic envoy?"

     The General nodded to the soldiers at the door. One man stepped out, and the sound of him hustling away filled the air.

     Everyone in this room, one way or another, knew that a single alchemist could take on an army, and that more than one was plenty reason to take cover. He didn't remind them. He'd been duly warned before leaving Xing not to bring it up, just in case Aerugo wanted to renew threats to declare the State Alchemists war criminals, or to demand battle alchemy be outlawed on any treaty they'd sign. That could come down on Xingese alchemists' heads as well.

     Turning to her notes, Major General Saulnier cleared her throat. "While we wait, shall we finish deciding this? If we're agreed on ball-bearing jump ropes, would each country supply its own ball-bearing jump ropes, or how should we standardize them if we're standardizing?"

     "I don't think ball-bearing jump ropes should be a requirement," the Aerugan ambassador put in, and Ling felt like dropping his head through the table. "We've always issued knotted jump ropes in government facilities. The disadvantage to our--"

     The soldier who'd left ran back through the door, two other panting soldiers at his side, yelling, "Major General! We have to evacuate!"

     Soldiers from rushed in and saved Ling from shaking any ambassadors by their ties until they'd shut up about jump ropes. Amestrians flanked the door as Saulnier's face turned grim. "Gentlemen, Madam," she said as she stood, "if you'll please follow me to a secure location."

     All the dignitaries stood from their seats -- and to their credit, none tried to hide under the table. Then the wall collapsed into a heap of cinderblocks and plaster. Fu and Lan Fan jumped between him and the giant crumbling hole, taking guard positions as a bleeding, glowing man walked closer. It was one of the Generals he'd met his first day here, probably the Amestrian Lan Fan had said was working with Liu Zhou.

     That was one General who was out of a job.

     The Drachman ambassador sputtered, "What's the meaning of this?"

     He didn't get any further. The bloody general blinked away from where he was standing and reappeared with his hand about a centimeter from Ilyushin's throat.

     "You failed. I won't."

     Soldiers tried to pull him back, but their hands passed through the General's body, and from the way they shook Ling guessed it didn't feel pleasant. The blue glow from the man's hand didn't look like it was any better for the Drachman. His skin started wearing away, and Ilyushin half-choked a noise that might have been a scream if he'd been able to put air behind it, but Ling could hardly blame him for being too scared for that. Even though their attacker looked worse for the wear -- his skin rough and broken, though not as badly as the Drachman counselor's -- how could they fight someone they couldn't touch?

~//~

     It wasn't easy to keep up with a man who could teleport. Under his breath, Roy whispered bare thankfulness that Fieseler had a target and hadn't run at the barricades.

     "Could be worse," Ed yelled at his brother. "He hasn't figured out how to bilocate!"

     "He could really do that?!" The cringe in Alphonse's voice echoed in Roy's gut.

     "I'm not gonna test it right now! But don't worry! There woudn't be two of him -- just one of him in two places, so I can resolve him into a single mass!"

     Behind him, Zhou growled, "I want nothing to do with Amestrian alchemy ever again."

     When they got to the ruined wall, all levity vanished. Fieseler had stopped, but whatever he was doing to the Drachman ambassador, Roy knew the sound of a man dying. Hopefully they weren't too late to stop it.

     "Why aren't these people gone?" Roy yelled at the room.

     "I'll take responsibility, Brigadier General," Major General Saulnier answered as she pushed the Cretan and Aerugan ambassadors toward the door. "Now, you'd better have a plan!"

     "Underway, ma'am!"

     Whether teleportation had consumed the energy the first array had created, or whether Fieseler had learned to rein the effect in to stop Alphonse's trick from working again, they had no way to tell, but there was no material inside the glow to exploit besides Fieseler's body.

     No matter. They had the original plan.

     The Xingese alchemist scratched his circle in the dirt -- a combination of Xingese symbols and the work he'd done with Ed. Broad, rough, but functional as hitting a brick with a sledgehammer. Not everything needed precision. Ed watched him draw, too, a snarl on his lip as he waited for the chance to strike. But the instant Zhou threw his needles, Fieseler zipped away and reappeared at the broken wall.

     He stared Zhou down with a manic elation in his eyes.

     Major General Saulnier caught Ilyushin. "Get this man to Medical!" she told the soldiers who stepped up to carry him away. Turning to the Xingese ambassador, she said, "Your Highness, I need to get you clear."

     The Xingese Prince and his guards edged closer to the gap in the wall where Roy stood.

     "I'm not leaving without _him_," the man answered, pointing at the alchemist facing down Fieseler. Roy nodded to Alphonse to lead the party to Hawkeye. Getting them out of the battle zone was non-negotiable. Ling Yao, meanwhile, explained to the Major General, who was losing patience, "Liu Zhou leaves in my custody, to stand trial in Xing for his actions here."

     "This is not the time to discuss extradition!"

     Roy edged closer to Fieseler, looking for a way to distract him long enough that Zhou could finish his work and there would still be an extradition to discuss. Dead prisoners and destroyed worlds would benefit no one.

     Fieseler ran his foot over Zhou's circle. At first, it had no effect. Then, the iridescent glow retreated from his leg, as if the Lt. General were pulling it back, and his foot smudged the lines in the dirt out of existence. Once the array was broken, he set the glow back into place. That test over, he launched into a flickering fury of attacks.

     The Xingese alchemist dodged, escaping by the smallest hair as Fieseler zipped from place to place, but he had no time to draw, and this close to civilians, their options were more limited. They needed to steal Fieseler's attention, and secure his position. He and Ed had never finished a countermeasure to contain something like this.

     He felt Ed step up to his side an instant before he felt the tug on his sleeve.

     "You think that guy can hit a moving target if he knows where it's going, Roy?"

     "If you mean what I think you mean, you had damn well better not get hurt."

     He couldn't vouch for his actions if Fieseler got a hand on Edward like he did on Ilyushin.

     The blond squeezed his arm. "I've got this. You keep our new best friend in line."

     As Ed dashed toward the fountain in the courtyard, Roy didn't try to kiss him for luck -- he wouldn't let himself think Edward needed luck -- and he certainly wouldn't kiss him goodbye. Sentiment would wait until his blond came back, the way he always did.

     Perched on the fountain's basin, Ed yelled, "_Hey, dipshit!_ Why don'tcha pick on somebody your own size?!"

     Every eye not already on him turned to see him transmute the fountain and the grass around it into a knot of stairs and towers. The stone under Ed's feet grew eight feet into the air.

     "Not all of us need a circle you can kick apart! How you gonna handle _me_?!"

     Like a wounded animal, Fieseler moved at him hard and fast. Roy strode over to the Xingese alchemist. "Draw your circle. Aim when he attacks, before he phases out."

     "I can manage that."

     Transmutation flashes came every second or two -- towers growing and shrinking, bridges forming and disappearing, stairs twisting -- while Roy watched Ed jump over or duck under Fieseler's jabs. He wouldn't look away for an instant. Even if he could have believed that the brutal grace in Edward's every leap was a sight he could live with missing, he knew he had to be watching when, in whatever way, this ended. It wasn't just his sight watching, but his bones and skin and sinew straining as if they could will Edward to make his distance.

     The General flickered.

     Ed taunted him.

     Roy barely heard a word.

     And in one horrible second, in a flash, everything shifted. Fieseler had his target in sight on the tallest pillar. His single approach to Ed opened his back to the Xingese alchemist. Roy knew it was the moment, and he knew Ed wouldn't move till it was over. It'd be over faster than he could snap his fingers, but that was still too long.

     The General lunged.

     The heartbeat when he realized Zhou's needles wouldn't strike first choked in Roy's throat, and his breath wouldn't move. A blur of blue pierced red beneath a streak of gold. Six flying needles hit Fieseler's back.

     When the blue around him faded, he tumbled, taking with him the red and black that Roy refused to believe was Edward. That would never be Edward.

     Then a shot of black flew up from nowhere, driving a punch at Fieseler's gut that blew them both to the grass outside the plot of stone. The Lt. General's arm, Roy saw as his breath found him again, was stuck through a blond-haired dummy -- made with it's tongue sticking out, and wearing the shirt and vest Ed was now missing.

     Jumping to the tallest tower in the lot, the real thing smirked with his metal-plated arm and sweat-sheened skin gleaming in the sunlight. He spread his hands to drop shreds of what used to be alchemical circles, falling from his fingers like autumn leaves.

     Over the click-click of a camera shutter, the Xingese ambassador murmured, "He's not what I expected, but I think I like his style."

     Roy glanced over his shoulder at the rapt gazes from the spectators' gallery.

     "He's spoken for," he said.

     Just in case anyone had ideas.

     Hawkeye cocked an eyebrow at him, then rolled her eyes at his grin.

     In the settling dust, Alphonse and Lt. General Bloch pulled Fieseler off the ground. His feet dragged and he couldn't lift his head, let alone resist. One job done.

     "Get him to Medical, too," Major General Saulnier called out, striding over the rubble. "I take it our next Security review will be an interesting one, Brigadier."

     "Did the Drachman ambassador survive?"

     She glanced at the door, wiping dust off her nose. "There'll be a scar, but the doctors seemed to think he'd recover. I'm sure he'll be thrilled that you care."

     "I did give my word he'd go home alive."

      But as much as he wanted their problems done, a high whine in the air cut his relief short. The Xingese alchemist stood where the needles had fallen from Fieseler's back.

     "Amateurs get hurt when they meddle with forces they don't understand. A professional doesn't leave his job unfinished."

     Under his control, the blue shimmer formed into whips, crumbling the towers Fullmetal had built a hundred times faster than Fieseler had done. Edward jumped to the grass running.

     Three needles flew at the building. Roy snapped, and Zhou's circle shot into a column of flame. It was char by the time the needles landed.

     The blue whips faded. The guards shoving him to the ground took care of the rest.

     "You shouldn't have done that," Roy told him.

     "Speak for yourself. I was only controlling that energy. Your circle created it."

     As the guards pulled him away, the whine crescendoed like gravity filling the air, thin blue threads rising. Thin grew thicker, gaining substance, taking on the column shape it'd had before Fieseler had drawn it in. Only now, the twisting and destruction of the world created a nothingness while creeping outward. Stone collapsed in on itself like popping balloons. Thin as a hair, a new column formed in the middle that he could only call "black", but that made the world look like scenery flats on a stage, skewed ever so slightly so that he could see the wings.

     Edward ran over, breath heaving in even beats while Roy's heart hit triplets.

     "So much for the effect dissipating when the array's gone," the blond muttered.

     "Tell me you've learned enough in the last five minutes to contain that."

     "Only one way to find out."

     Ed swung onto a drainpipe and climbed to the roof, turning toward the imminent destruction of reality the same way he met Kyrian verb conjugations: with distaste that passed from mulishness into iron conviction that nothing so petty could beat him. Then he clapped his hands, and sparks of transmutation arched across the sky.

~//~

     Him, or the destruction of the universe. Whatever happened, he thought at the shivering sliver of reality unmaking itself, there was only room for one of them in this...

     Um. Universe. And after he survived, he'd look up more words for 'all of existence'.

     Eyes locked on the utter emptiness, he could feel it shredding every differentiated atom into something far finer than dust. Reducing everything to sameness, stagnation, and stillness.

     It was a peaceful nothingness inside ultimate dissolution. Consuming, leaving nonexistence behind as it collapsed in and in and in with the world sinking toward it. But not a peace he wanted. A yell curdling inside him, Edward pulled the world back, and forced the energy running wild to reinhabit the stillness. That was where it needed to be. Forcing the particles out of their inert lack of shape. Making them something other than nothing.

     But it wouldn't stop until he gave it shape. That was what was missing. Even if the stuffness and the energy was willing to be something, it'd lost every inclination towards something to be. Remixing raw matter -- like making clay from dust and water instead of reshaping matter that was already as pliable as new clay from a riverbank -- the strain dropped him to his knee, but he pushed through a shape to let the matter back into reality.

     The column of energy was gone. Now, amidst the broken remnants of the little playground he'd built from the old fountain, scores of tiger lilies bloomed around a brand new fountain, where dancing satyrs blew streams of water out of their pipes.

     That was better. A smile broke over Ed's lips. On the ground, Roy was smiling, too.

     Taking a breath to steady himself, Ed flexed his knees and jumped down. The Xingese alchemist wasn't so happy. Tied up inside, next to the Major General, he stared out at and through and far beyond the little patch of flowers, terror on his face. He wasn't going to be able to self destruct and take all the evidence and witnesses with him.

     "Eat that," Ed called out, fighting the shake of his jaw and limbs. Roy's arm around his shoulder helped, keeping him up straight.

     The Colonel nodded to Hawkeye "Would you assess the damage here, then go to the office to take reports as they come in? I'm taking Ed inside."

     "Yes, sir."

     The Major General stood still by the miraculously unscathed meeting table, arms crossed over her chest and as stone-faced as ever. "Someone will call at your office for a final review at 10:30 tomorrow morning, Mustang. _I assume_ this is done?"

     "I just destroyed the rabbit hole," Ed shot back. "It's gone. That's as done as it gets."

     Might as well get that project closed as soon as possible.

     "And _I assume_ we can discuss extradition now?" Ling sang at the Major General.

     'His Serene Highness' my ass, Ed thought. Bastard was a fucking shark.

     His legs felt steady enough to walk. Off by the rows of troops marching in, Hawkeye was already coordinating cleanup. Ed took one last look at the government's new lily garden. "I guess that shirt's toast. It actually fit, too."

     Roy flicked a glance down from Ed's face. "I'm prepared to deal with the consequences."

     His insides already felt like a runaway train. Roy's hand on his skin, tight on his shoulder, only made the adrenaline worse. His hormones were going to make him do something stupid any second now, and that bastard was totally enabling.

     "Not here, Roy," Ed growled at him.

     Then a shutter clicked, and a flashbulb went off in front of them.

     The photographer shrugged from his spot near the rubble of the wall. "I had instructions to get a picture of you two together."

     Roy chuckled as they neared the man, leaning over to whisper, "When the Major General realizes you were here, the first thing she'll do is order a media blackout."

     "Right. Why don't I go see if I can make the deadline for the evening paper."

     He backed out of Saulnier's line of sight and ran for the street.

     Roy had that grin he always wore when the world went his way. And by the time the Colonel got his stumbling ass to the back door of the East Wing, the screaming crowds had run up to the barricades. Screaming crowds. Could you get more cliche than that?

     "It's over!" Ed yelled. "Go home!"

     "Are you Edward Elric?!" One of the kids standing at the edge of the blockade waved a green pamphlet over the barrier. "_The_ Edward Elric? I've read all your work, and... and! I'm making my friends come to your lecture at the university next month! Maybe they'll stop calling Kyrus a snooze fest. I can't believe I'm actually _seeing_ you! Can I have your autograph?!"

     "...W-wait, _what_?" Ed stammered as he got a look at the title on the green pamphlet.

     'Concerning the Judiciary Process, and the Foundations of the Right to Trial by Jury.'

     'By Edward Elric.'

     It wasn't hard to assure himself he hadn't gone crazy and asked a printer to run those up while he was out of his head. He sure as hell hadn't picked that title. He'd called that topic, 'Bullshit Essay No. 23: Why it's not Justice to throw people into dark closets willy-nilly just because you said so,' when he'd dropped it on Roy's desk. Ed narrowed his eyes at the Colonel, who _clearly wasn't surprised_ about what was going on.

     "Ladies, gentlemen," Roy said in his ringing, oratory voice that somehow didn't sound like yelling. "Mr. Elric will be happy to sign autographs next month at the university. Right now we need to get him inside. Thank you!"

     The bastard didn't look sorry at all. He pushed Ed inside the building and doubled over laughing in the emergency stairwell, but never once looked even a little sorry.

     "Roy. Are you gonna explain what you did, or do I have to... to..." He shook his head, imagination circuits shorting out. "I don't know what I'll do, but there will be potatoes involved."

     A sigh fell from his tricky asshole of a boyfriend's lips as Roy pretended to ponder how he was going to get out of this.

     "Well." After another pause, Roy shrugged and hit brand new levels of unapologeticness. "I've been using you to drum up support for a democratic reformation, and to create a body of principles the Federal Diet can work from next time they draft a governmental framework."

     "Were you going to tell me that before or _after_ they put me on a stage to _give a lecture_?!"

     "Hadn't decided yet," Roy answered like he _still wasn't sorry_. And never would be.

     "Potatoes," Ed threatened right back.

     But as he leaned back on the cold wall, he didn't pull his arms away from Roy's, even though they couldn't pretend this was to help him walk. At least Roy had taken him the long way around, by the back stairs where no one ever went so he wasn't parading half-naked in front of the entire building. The way his heart was beating, he'd've probably ripped someone's head off the first time I heard uncalled-for commentary.

     "Anyway, you could have written those things yourself! You already had opinions on that crap. You didn't need me to do it!"

     "The one piece I wrote, everyone was too suspicious of my 'angle' to give it any thought. It seems the world at large expects an ulterior motive in everything I do."

     "No! _You?!_ Why the hell would anybody think _that_?!"

     "One of the insoluble mysteries of life."

     He worked his fingers into Roy's jacket, the warm of his lover's body fighting with the cold of the stairs. "You're gonna be sorry when people figure out that I have _your_ ulterior motive."

     "I don't think they ever will," Roy murmured in his ear.

     A tongue in his mouth shut him up fast enough. The jitters of still being alive hit the sweat-mixed scent of cardamom in the air, and almost drowned out the little part of his brain screaming that it was a doozy of a bad idea to make out in the stairwell, even if no one was around to watch right this second. Roy's hand on his ass was _not helping_.

     "Oi," he hissed into Roy's cheek, focusing on the cutting cold of the wall to keep his head together. "I'm all for '_Yay, the world didn't implode_' sex, but if you're fucking me in this building, you're fucking me on your desk. That's what private offices are for, right?"

     "If you insist," Roy laughed.

     Ed scowled. "Are you saying that because your office is going to be full of brass? Because if anyone is gonna show up anywhere to ask me anything about _any of this bullshit_, you can just take me home right now."

     "Suspects in custody are Major General Defiant's department. The desk is fine."

~//~

     Alphonse slumped into a chair alongside all the Security personnel flopped with their eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of their own breath. Lt. General Bloch had given everyone in Research an impromptu afternoon off while the Council convened about what to do from here, all the evidence the Brigadier General's team had gathered was with the Office of Justice, and inside these walls they could take a few minutes blissful refuge from curious people asking them questions they weren't allowed to answer about what had actually happened. Even Capt. Hawkeye looked like she was drinking in the peace, quiet, and lack of any immediate threat as she cleaned her gun in the light of a row of hanging lanterns.

     "Nice of the Brigadier to let us take a breather," Lt. Breda sighed.

     "Too nice," Capt. Havoc grumbled around his cigarette. No one jumped at the screech of furniture shifting inside the Brigadier General's office. They were all too tired. "It's suspicious. He never takes lunch. Now he's taking his lunch hour with just him and the boss and the door has to stay closed? What'd he actually say, Cap?" he asked Hawkeye.

     "That he thought preventing the obliteration of reality was worth everyone getting an hour off, and I should hold all callers."

     Lt. Falman pulled his head upright. "Is that what actually happened?"

     Following Capt. Hawkeye's lead, all eyes turned on Alphonse, and he tried to think of a way to believe Nii-san's array would have fizzled out before it ate the entire universe.

     His mind was a blank.

     "As I see it, yes."

     "That's definitely worth an hour," 2nd Lt. Fuery agreed.

     The clatter from the next room sounded a lot like a chair hitting the floor, and Havoc's eyes flipped open. "What the hell? Okay, I dare somebody to open that door."

     "Not it," the whole group muttered in chorus. Alphonse didn't have to. He was exempt. Everyone had agreed.

     Lt. Breda shut the book he was reading. "They wouldn't be doing alchemy in there, right? So it's _safe_ to look? Right?"

     Over in the corner, Capt. Hawkeye smiled to herself. The thud from the Brigadier's office didn't sound like any office furniture Alphonse knew about.

     "I triple dog dare somebody to open that door," Capt. Havoc answered. "We've gotta report the Council's appointment, right? I'm thinking of a number between one and twenty."

     "Three," Lt. Breda called out.

     "Nine," said 2nd Lt. Fuery.

     "Ten," answered Lt. Falman from the corner.

     Capt. Hawkeye didn't answer. She was exempt, too.

     Pointing at Falman, Havoc settled his feet on his desk. "The number was one. You're it."

     Just before the Lieutenant got to the door, another sound filtered out of the office. It sounded like his brother's voice, muffled somehow. And suddenly it clicked. Something about the number of times he'd come home to find the Brigadier in his brother's room.

     While his brother was putting clothes on.

     That'd happened a lot.

     And the way Nii-san let the Brigadier steal his hair ties. He never let anyone...

     _Oh dear._

     As soon as he heard the turn of the handle, Alphonse clapped his hands over his eyes. Given the silence after the door opened, he was sure he was right. But darn it! He did have to be certain. Not having verification was already bothering him, and it'd been less than a second!

     He opened a space between two of his fingers to peek.

     Well, that settled that. Nii-san had lost his shirt outside, but now his pants were half-off, the Brigadier's shirt was missing as well, and they were bent over the desk at the back of the darkened, shuttered office. It didn't look accidental this time, either.

     Alphonse covered his eyes again.

     "You didn't lock the door," he heard his brother say.

     "I knew I'd forgotten something. Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

     "Sir! The... ah. The Fuhrer's messenger reports that His Excellency is sorry, but your involvement in this investigation prevents him from naming you to the Council in Lt. General Fieseler's place. The empty spot will go to Major General Armstrong, sir."

     "Excellent. I'm sure she'll do a wonderful job. Now, Lieutenant -- if you don't mind?"

     "Not at all, sir!"

     The door slammed shut. Alphonse thought he could hear the tick of a watch on someone's wrist. 2nd Lt. Fuery finally broke the silence.

     "Did anyone have 'apocalypse' in the betting pool?"

     "No way was that their first time," Havoc answered. "We've been played."

     Alphonse's voice cracked as he shrieked, "You're... you're not going to stop them?!"

     All the officers glanced at each other, and Lt. Breda picked up his novel with a shrug.

     "Well. They did prevent the obliteration of reality."

     Capt. Hawkeye clicked her weapon's magazine into place. "Just this once."

     Suddenly the weariness of the long day disappeared. Alphonse shot to his feet and backed toward the hallway door as more strange noises came from the Brigadier's office.

     "Um. Okay. Well. E-Excuse me. I... I have to go feed my cats!"

     It might be all well and good that Nii-san was... intimate with the Brigadier -- and Mrs. Hughes had given him The Talk, so on an intellectual level, he _had_ known that would happen -- but he really didn't think brothers should listen to that sort of thing. He'd go celebrate the non-obliteration of reality by reading a book.

     Somewhere else.

[The End]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) **"A Knock at the Door"** is the title of Book 3, Chapter 8 of Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities. Thank you for playing!
> 
> 2) **Colonel Cessna** is named for the Cessna aircraft company, creators of such planes as the Cessna AT-17 (1939). **Captain Boeing** is, of course, for the Boeing Company.
> 
> 3) **The nation of Kyrus**  
>   
> While we're on the subject of names, it was brought to my attention that I never footnoted Kyrus (generally spelled "Cyrus" in English, but I went for a transliteration from the Greek since that's what the vast majority of Japanese mangaka would use). [Cyrus the Great](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrus_the_Great) lived somewhere around 576 to 530 BC, founded the Achaemenid Empire, and was known as the King of Kings of Persia, the King of Āryāvarta, the King of Anshan, the King of Media, the King of Babylon, the King of Sumer and Akkad, and the King of the Four Corners of the World. Unlike his grandson Xerxes (through his daughter, Atossa, whose name I stole back in Ch. 7 to be the source of Alphonse's manuscript) and Xerxes's queen, Amestris, Cyrus the Great maintains a reputation to this day as someone who treated the populations he conquered with respect. His declaration following the conquest of Babylon that populations held captive in Babylon would be repatriated is considered (with some academic dispute, of course) "one of the first historically important declarations of human rights". So, with a tip of the hat to all this, I have used his name to provide our heroes with a long-dead society Roy could have Ed analyze to develop principles for a just government.
> 
> 4) **A... partisan?**  
>   
> While writing about Ed tearing it up on the battlefield, I found myself asking, "What exactly is that thing he uses? It's not technically a spear. [Spears don't have a cross-hilt](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spear), and the blade is all wrong to be a [glaive](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glaive) or a [halberd](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halberd)..." Names for polearms are very technical and specific (and not something I'd researched more thoroughly than is necessary to play D&amp;D before), so I looked at a lot of medieval weaponry to find a kind of polearm that looked about the right length for the kind Ed favors in a fight, and which had a double-edged blade head with a significant, symetrically-shaped guard in the same plane as the blade, but where the guard did not appear to be a secondary weapon such as a hook. You've all seen it:
> 
> After comparing it against several relative length charts (such as the informal one I've taken here from [All Things Medieval](http://medieval.stormthecastle.com/armorypages/medieval-polearms.htm)) and comparisons of blade styles (such as this one I've taken from [Weapons Universe](http://www.weapons-universe.com/Swords/Medieval_Polearms.shtml)), I decided the [partisan](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Partisan_\(weapon\)) was the best match:
> 
> [Therion Arms](http://www.therionarms.com/old_armor_page.shtml) also has [this lovely picture](http://www.therionarms.com/armor/polearm10.jpg) of variations on a partisan spearhead from the 16th century, and the Retromud game website actually has a [fairly nice-looking alternative comparison chart for length/style](http://www.retromud.org/frames/weapons/polearms.html).
> 
> So there you go.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Button Up Your Overcoat Cover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/463897) by [Wanderer_Brown_Sheep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderer_Brown_Sheep/pseuds/Wanderer_Brown_Sheep)




End file.
